


Another Five Nights

by CharlieMcarthy



Series: The (K)night Guard [5]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: and even tho you tell them 'it wont work for the main plot line!' they still find a way, kids this is what happens when the plot bunnies pester you, multi one shot story here, random ideas i didnt get the chance to write, that i get to now, though at this point theyre more the size of dust kangaroos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-22 02:21:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13754244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieMcarthy/pseuds/CharlieMcarthy
Summary: Various episodic chapters based on the knight guard series. Takes places around the events of London Bridge, Devil’s Spine and Ghost Strings.





	1. Intro

**Author’s Note: All the chapters will have a short summary at the start. Because there is NO planned, over-arcing plot to these, the summaries will help you decide if you want to read that chapter or not. The chapter summary will also tell you when the events of that episode takes place. As a general rule, the events of the knight guard au happen in this order:**

_Devil’s Spine:_ Very late summer into early fall. August into September. _  
London Bridge:_ Fall, October, about a week or so before Halloween. _  
Ghost Strings:_ Fall to early winter. Late October to the end of November. _  
Finding Freddy:_ Summer _,_ Ten years after the events of _Ghost Strings._

**Something I don’t usually do (because its fanfiction, and you obviously know the characters you want to read about. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here in the first place, right?) but since the knight guard au managed to snow-ball into a solid sized storyline, I’ve cobbled together some character descriptions. In a pinch, they should help you if you want to read these stories first without getting through the nonsense that is the rest of the knight guard works. And, if you already know of Mike’s misadventures, these are just cute little tidbits to refresh your brain since this author doesn't update a lot! I'm trash! Enjoy!  
**

**Mike Schmidt:** The scruffy, scrawny night guard of Freddy Fazbear’s Restaurant. He’s also the manager, a technician, and is haunted by the ghost of Golden Freddy, (Fredbear.) Chosen by the Marionette to protect the pizzeria, Mike isn’t the most _conventional_ knight in shining armor. Still, he’s got a heart of Gold, and is always ready to help someone in need. He’s usually found working on the arcade games, or in Parts and Services tinkering on his many odd jobs around the restaurant.

 **Freddy Fazbear:** The titular character and programmed leader of the Fazgang. Freddy is firm, imposing, and almost the exact opposite of Mike Schmidt. Which makes for an interesting friendship, since the two share a close bond after Mike frees the gang the control of Afton’s nephew in _Devil’s Spine._ Freddy is programmed to watch out for any human that works ‘on the floor’ with him and his friends. This includes any wait staff and security.

 **Bonnie the Bunny:** Freddy’s second in command and avid arcade player; Bonnie is programmed to relate to teenagers. This makes him a bit of a brat, but he’s affectionate, playful and loyal to the last screw. He’s programmed to be Freddy’s best friend, and he is! But he and Foxy often team up to cause mayhem and mischief when the mood strikes.

 **Chica the Chicken:** Inwardly more chef than cheerleader when she’s off the stage, Chica is sensible, loving and will break off an arm if someone disrespects her kitchen. She mothers a lot of the staff, and even her fellow bots. Bonnie refers to her as ‘sis’ sometimes. She’s programmed to aid the cook staff and loves icing cakes and serving the children.

 **Foxy the Pirate:** Recently pulled from Out of Order and back into Active, Foxy walks, talks and acts just like a pirate should. A salty scallywag as they come, Foxy is undeterred by his rusted appearance and instead uses it to convince children of his marvelous adventures that he tells table side. Foxy’s years behind his curtain in _Termination_ have given him a much more mature outlook than even Fazbear, as Foxy understands sometimes life isn’t fair…and that every child must grow up.

 **Golden Freddy/Fredbear:** Golden Freddy—or Fredbear—is a hallucination in the first game. In the knight guard au, he’s a spirit without a Suit and can only manifest briefly in the office. The Marionette bonds both Fredbear and Mike Schmidt into one body, anchoring Gold’s spirit and giving Mike one powerful ally on his side in his job to protect the restaurant. Gold generally speaks JUST LIKE THIS, and is the brawn to Mike’s brainier, physically weaker side of their shared coin. When Gold is ‘Active’ Mike is gone. But he’s always watching through the black eyes of the haunted Suit that patrols the halls.

 **The Marionette:** A withdrawn, mysterious entity that is as old as Golden Freddy and Springtrap. It used to run the Prize Counter in Fredbear’s Diner, before it watched a crying child die during on ill-fated birthday party. In an attempt to give the crying child one final Gift, it gave the Gift of Life. Arthur’s ghostly soul remains tied to the Puppet’s body, making them near immortal. The Puppet channels the Crying Child’s immense, terrible powers from being a ghost and protects the little spirit. When the murders happened in later years the Puppet to tied other souls down to the four main mascots at the time. In _Devil’s Spine_ , the Puppet selects Mike Schmidt as the new guard for the ghostly Golden Freddy suit. It is hinted at that the Puppet tried anchoring Golden Freddy to several night guards that have come before Mike, including that ‘guy on the phone.’ This may or may not have resulted in their deaths. Come the events of _Ghost Strings_ , the Puppet’s body and Arthur’s soul become too old to stay on Earth, and the breakdown of Arthur’s powers unleash the monstrous Nightmare Animatronics into the pizzeria.

 **Springtrap/Spring Bonnie:** Not much is known about Springtrap. In _London Bridge_ , he is still the Suit of William Afton, the murderer. He is not seen again until the end of _Ghost Strings_ , where he is placed in the basement. At some point in time, Mike hooks him up to the main power supply in an attempt to begin fixing him. He appears again in _Finding Freddy_. Despite being broken down and still physically jilted by the remains of Afton’s skeleton, seems to be mentally stable. He calls Golden ‘Goldie’ and was the original Bonnie model, but has lost most of his joy and emotion after the traumatic events stuck with Afton.

**I promise, the rest of the author’s notes will never be this long again. Happy reading!**

* * *

**1\. Introduction: On Dark and Stormy Nights**

_It was a dark and stormy night…_

“Come on now, daddy, _lots_ of stories start like that.”

“Well, it _was_. I distinctly remember it was dark—because it was late. And it was raining—because rain was hitting the roof, you see.”

“I thought you said you’d tell me a _good_ story, though.” The young voice said briskly.

“Do I look like Foxy to you?” The man peered over the rims of his glasses. One of his eyes was amber-colored, but the other was still sky blue.

There was a sheepish silence from the little girl’s bed.

“…noo.” She finally said. She rolled over, adjusted the worn Fredbear plush to her chest and watched her father with expectant, wide eyes. By now, Fredbear had lost an ear, and one of his eyes had been sewn back on at least twice. The man’s smile twitched a little wider on his face at the sight of the two of them.

“Well then, Mary,” Mike started in his best no nonsense tone, “If I say it was a dark and stormy night, then it was. And anything else that happens after this _actually_ _happened_. No matter how impossible or magical it may seem. Okay?”

“Okay, daddy.”

“Good. Now, where were we? Ah, yes….”

_It was a dark and stormy night…_


	2. Fright Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some chapters might take place after Ghost Strings, while some might take place just after Devil’s Spine. This means you might get a chapter where the Marionette’s alive, for example, but the next chapter might have him and Arthur gone already. Reading the other stories—at least London Bridge and Devil’s Spine, is highly recommended.

**Summary:** _It’s Halloween, and Mike’s got to convince Arthur that the monster masks aren’t really real. While also trying to keep the staff from learning the puppet’s true and terrifying nature. Continuation of Devil Spine’s Halloween Special._

* * *

**Episode 1. Fright Knight**

It was a dark and stormy night, and thunder rolled.

Mike rolled too, but it was just a three and a measly one.

“Maaan.” He grabbed his little Parcheesi piece and marched it across the board. Across him, a set of dice rolled by itself. The black Parcheesi piece of his opponent tapped several spaces—also by itself—and settled, dangerously close to his own.

“How do you keep rolling sixes?” Mike demanded finally, his cheek resting in his palm. Sharp blue eyes glanced from board to the blackness, to meet his opponent’s eyes. In them, little white star lights twinkled almost playfully.

_“Beginner’s luck, I suppose.”_

“Oh, ‘beginner’s luck’ my _flying_ —“

“Son.”  The third voice had a deep baritone, and held a no-nonsense touch Mike envied.

“…my flying wrench.” Mike finished swiftly as he rolled again. “That’s what I was going to say Freddy, honest.”

Freddy’s look was clear. He didn’t buy it, but he left it alone. If nothing else, Mike noticed, Freddy turned to hide an amused look as he went back to distributing the clean table cloths to the few empty tables and booths. Mike’s grin came back. Good old Freddy.

“At least _look_ at what we’re playing, you big show off.” Mike finally demanded, turning back to his friend.

The Marionette lowered its worn book finally, and studied the board with the casual air of a lion looking for the next gazelle to join the dinner table.

 _“I am looking. But I fear seeing you in such a losing state distresses me too much, my dear night guard._ ” Despite this, Mari rolled one five and a three. The Puppet’s spider leg fingers pushed the air, a sort of ‘shoo shoo’ motion. The third to last black Parcheesi piece tottled by itself, all the way to ‘Home’ where it stopped among another black piece. Only one blue piece was there.

“Not enough distress to lose your lead, though.” The night guard huffed from where he sat crossed legged on the stage.

 _“Losing is something that happens to others.”_ The Marionette remarked casually as it turned a taped together page. “ _I haven’t had much practice in it.”_

“Why does that not surprise me?” Mike snorted as he took his turn.  He glanced at the back of the Puppet’s book, and his good mood lessened a fraction. Still, like sunshine, the night guard remained undaunted.

“Halloween’s tomorrow.” He tried broaching the subject gently.

 _“Yes, Michael. That or Freddy’s hanging up orange pumpkins and paper plate ghosts for a different reason.”_ It was true, Mike noticed. He glanced over to see the leading bear had already gotten to the box of decorations Mike had dug up from the basement. Mike watched Freddy adjust a paper witch just so before glancing back at the Puppet.

“Thought about a costume or no?”

_“I have not. Are you still planning to go as—what was it, now? A ghost?”_

Mike chuckled. “Possibly, but with a better costume than using flour. I’ll be sneezing all day.”

_“You would trip in a bed sheet.”_

“Gee, your vote of confidence does wonders for my ego.”

The Marionette actually made an amused noise. It was a sort of mechanical chuckle like the first short chime a Grandfather clock does.

_“I merely tell the truth. Also, I believe I am going to win.”_

“Well, I gave it my best.” Mike shrugged and leaned back on his palms. It was true, there was no way to pull off a win at this point, but that was okay. As the game finished up and the night wore on—and so did the fall storm—Mike watched the Puppet flick through the large, thin book twice more. Slowly, Mike decided to try another approach to this conversation. He was sure Marion knew what he was doing, but since the Puppet hadn’t stopped him, Mike continued.

“You’ve read that book a hundred times since I’ve known you, Mari. Aren’t there _any_ new ones I can get you?” Mike said carefully as he moved his blue piece closer to Home.

There was a long, long pause.

The Puppet lowered the book, it was on the last page anyway, and then closed it. Without a word, its arm stretched across the stage, over the Parcheesi board. Mike took the offered book and had the common sense to hold it gingerly in his lap.

A worn, near-faded cover of a book called _Foxy Goes to Sea_. Mike knew of it, sure.

FazbearCo released a short line of children’s books during the Toy models. This wasn’t the first one, but it was maybe the second or third out of ten or so. They were a painterly, rather old school style and used to be for purchase—with a hefty supply of tokens of course—during the second, bigger restaurant. Mike didn’t have to be told they were the most expensive prize next to the large plush forms of the gang. In the Prize Corner, there were two forms of currency. Tickets and tokens. 50 tickets equaled one gold token, and you could trade in tickets for tokens or things like pencil toppers or candies. His fingers ran over the cover, where a proud Foxy leaned over his ship, hook raised to the sun as waves parted for his mighty vessel. On the back, though, a different picture was painted. Apparently in _Foxy Goes to Sea,_ he leaves behind his friends and they miss him terribly. A dark toned scene of a gloomy Bonnie, Chica and Freddy showed quite a difference than the front cover. The book’s lesson was how to miss the departure of close friends, while learning how to move on even if they came back.

 In other words, it was a book on grieving. Mike kept that thought private.

“This one your favorite?” Mike smiled, handing it back. The air around them got marginally cooler. You could never quite _see_ the ghost of the Crying Child. You had to train yourself to look out the corner of your eye, like a trick of the light. Keeping that in mind, Mike noticed they weren’t alone on the stage anymore.

“It looks pretty old, Mari.”

 _“Of course it is. It is an original.” _The Puppet said rather smugly, tucking the book back into its box. “ _And it is Arthur’s favorite.”_ He corrected smoothly.

If Mike ever owned a copy of the book, it was long gone. And it certainly had never looked as well used as the Marionette’s. Or, rather…Arthur’s copy.

Mike opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the arrival of a certain bunny.

“How do I look? Well?”

Bonnie the bunny was walking up to the stage. He spread his purple arms, servos thrumming as he turned at the waist to show off his long red and black cape. A pair of Foxy’s old teeth were installed into his suit’s endoskeleton, giving him the appearance of fangs. His bowtie was a different shade of red, more the color of blood than its usual pinker tone.

“Bonnie, you look great!” Mike praised, turning to dangle his legs over the stage’s curved end. “Bunincula! Master of the night, guitars…and skeeball.”

Bonnie rolled his eyes but his ears flickered up straighter, and his posture became more proud.

“I have to say, Schmidt, this cape is pretty fabulous. I might not take it off after Halloween.” Bonnie commented, grabbing one end of it and pulling it over his front like the classic vampire villain usually did.

“Has Chica tried on hers yet? How did the costume maker do?” Mike asked, remembering the odd order he had to place. It was even worse when someone had to come in after hours to make measurements for the gang. Mike had felt bad for the tailor and had tipped her a little extra.

“Here I am!” Chica trilled, walking around the corner. “Freddy had to help me with the back of my dress but I love my hat!” Her thick yellow fingers tugged at the brim of the towering witches’ hat, in her other hand was a long broom. Her ‘dress’ was a long drape of fabric with a simple belt, a good fix for a witches dress, since Chica’s shape was pretty large.

“I finished the prop for your cauldron,” Mike got up and tugged it onto the stage for her to see.  “Think the kids will be excited for Witch-Chica’s bubbling brew?”

“Also known as apple cider.” Bon sniggered, but Chica clearly loved her new prop.

“Perfect, Mikey! How long did that take?”

“Not long,” Mike shrugged, “It’s just a wooden frame of an old barrel I found and Foxy and I squished it a bit. While it can’t _hold_ liquid, I hooked up the fog machine inside of it. Oh, and here’s the cord, so you guys don’t trip on it.” He pointed to where it was taped down on its long way to the outlet in the back stage.

“ _You two certainly look the part.”_ The Puppet’s voice chimed over Mike’s shoulder as it floated over.

“Don’t they?” Mike gave an accomplished smile. “Hey, speaking of two…where’s our valiant, courageous leader? He was here a second ago…Freddy?” Mike called. It never failed to marvel Mike how quietly Freddy could move when he wanted to.

“Over here son.” Freddy walked in, Foxy wandering after him. Freddy looked as he always did, and so did the android fox. Mike was only confused about one of them, and as he slid off the stage he voiced it. The Puppet trailed behind him soundlessly.

“Freddy, what about your costume?”

“I’ll put it on when the day comes, son.” Freddy said, quirking a black eyebrow plate at Mike’s little disappointed noise.

“What about you, Foxy?” Bonnie asked suddenly, head cocking. “Aren’t you dressing up?”

“Aye. And I be goin’ as a pirate, ya silly varmit.” Foxy said calmly. Bonnie glanced at Mike for clarification on this mystery.

“I tried but Foxy didn’t want to wear a costume for Halloween.” Mike shrugged. “It’s up to him, besides, he is the only one of you who _does_ already dress up. Kind of.”

“Ain’t the Captain ta be hiding behind a mask, even it be fer a day.” Foxy grunted as he strode off, saying something about checking the ovens for Chica’s pumpkin cookies.

“Yeah, there’s a reason for it, too.” Bunicula said with his volume turned down, so only Mike could hear.

The night guard nodded, but knew better than to pry. The Marionette was one thing (though many might disagree about tat) but Foxy was a private sort of animatronic. He and Mike did best because they didn’t step on the other’s toes. Mike liked it, and he thought Foxy did too. If the old captain wanted to tell Mike why he wouldn’t wear a costume, that was fine. If not, that was fine too.

“Rest up gang.” Mike called out to his friends as he checked his watch. “Tomorrow is Halloween!”

Everyone looked excited, as far as Mike could tell. Everyone, of course, but the puppet floating behind him. Funny how that painted smile wouldn’t quite meet those black and white optics it had.

* * *

Mike watched Freddy from the middle of a crowd of children. The bolts and torn shirt really sold it, to be honest. Freddy finished handing out candy from the plastic pumpkin he was carrying, realized it was empty and excused himself. Franken-Freddy’s costume was going off with the kids as well as Bonnie’s and Chica’s. A few kids commented on Foxy, but when he jovially told them there was nothing he’d rather be more than a pirate, even on Halloween, they all seemed to accept this and went on their way. It was cute, watching the animatronics interact with their children. They rarely forgot a face and always welcomed a new kid like he or she had been coming there for their whole life.

“The parents are going to hate us for giving them all these sweets.” Mike commented with a small grin as Freddy lumbered by.

“S’only one day out of the year. Gotta lettim’ be kids.”

“Good point.” Mike agreed, taking the bear bot’s jack o’ lantern head. “Here, I’ll fill this up for you since you’re entertaining the troops.”

Freddy gave him a fond look, before turning back to the rest of the Dining Hall.

Mike was whistling to himself, an offbeat tune of Spooky Scary Skeletons, when he noticed the temperature drop. He stopped walking, empty Jack ‘o lantern head tucked under his arm, and paused down the long stretch of hallway leading to the kitchen. Noticing no one was around, not even a bot, Mike shifted his weight.

“Mari…? Er, or I mean— _Arthur_?” He called, keeping his voice to a whisper. The cold atmosphere pitched downward more and Mike let a shiver overcome him. The Crying Child was a little ghost, and ghosts brought cold. But this was new, and seemed more…weighty? Than Mike was used to associating with Arthur. He thought the Marionette was in the Prize Room. No, he was sure of it. There was a big demand for those special Halloween-themed plushies Marion had pulled from seemingly nowhere. Mike didn’t ask where they had come from, because frankly he didn’t want to know but if he had to guess they might be old prizes back from the restaurant the Toy models used to work at. The point was, they were too busy for any animatronic to be on break, let alone the Puppet.

“So, if Mari’s over in the Prize Room…what are you doing so far from him kiddo?” Mike asked the air, but realized he was talking mostly to himself. The cold feeling was fading, but when he took a step he felt it again. The Crying Child’s ghost was moving.

Forgetting his candy-fetching task, Mike ignored the hairs on the back of his neck prickling up and followed the cool sensation. Without Golden Freddy, the night guard couldn’t see ghosts very well. Better than most though, that was for sure.

But there was the ghostly child, Arthur, off the strings that kept him anchored to the Puppet. Briefly, Mike wondered why Mari wasn’t with Arthur, but then he remembered the long line of children in the Prize Room. Sometimes, and Mike knew this better than anyone after his first week at Freddy’s, your programming could _not_ just be ignored. Maybe the Puppet wasn’t here because it couldn’t be, not necessarily because it didn’t want to be.

Then, four children ran by the ghostly entity, completely unaware they were being watched by it. Mike saw, though, and he also saw the way the little boy’s tear streaked face became wide with terror at the sight of all the masked children. A chicken, a bunny, a bear…and a _fox_. These children had come today dressed up as their favorite animatronic mascots.

And just like that, Arthur lost the remaining control he had.

The Crying Child was spooked. No, _terrified_ was a better word for it. Mike felt the primal, deep rooted fear even from across the hall, even as the eager costumed kids turned down the hall toward Foxy’s cove. The thick fear hung over the air like thick smog and clouded his senses, making the night guard woozy. By the time he realized he wasn’t the only one being effected like this, Golden Freddy was already half way formed and in control of their shared body.

It happened like it usually did. Swiftly, with a pulse of electric energy. Mike went in, and Gold came out. The only lucky thing about this entire moment was that no one was around to see it.

The problem was, when the dread cleared and Gold was left standing alone in the hall, the Suit soon realized there was nothing for it to do. Golden Freddy wasn’t for entertaining anymore, it had been a hollowed out shell of a suit for decades now. Before Mike, it sat in the basement and waited.

After Mike, it sat in Mike’s body and waited some more.

What Gold was waiting for, of course, was the problem. And the reason the Crying Child’s errant fears ad sent its power spiraling out of control. Gold had answered blindly, switching with its Suit to come out into the open and deal with the threat.

But the threat was nothing more than other kids running about in costumes for the day. How was Gold supposed to deal with _that_? Gold wanted to obey Arthur’s call—deal with the Scary Things Threatening it—but Mike saw beyond the child’s pull and knew that a bad situation would just go to worse if Gold was allowed to run rampant across a bustling, full Freddy’s.

Gold balked, having no answer to the problem presented before them for once.

The answer was floating swiftly down the hall. The skeletal form passed Gold almost carelessly, and the Marionette didn’t stop until it was back to the Crying Child. Gold (and Mike) watched apprehensively as the puppet drew the child’s see-through form close in its spindle arms. Marion’s comforting worked immensely well, at least to the point Gold no longer felt the hypnotic draw of Arthur’s terrible powers.

 _“It would do you well to put some space between yourself and the child.”_ Marion’s emotionless voice said to Gold. The towering, golden bear gave a grunt of agreement and lurched from its standstill in the first random direction it could think of.

Gold turned, noticing for the first time that the doors he had backed up through where swinging doors. Which meant he was out of the frying pan, and into the fire.

Over a dozen wide, startled little faces gaped up at him.

Gold stared back.

Mike, deep within the recess of their shared mind, started to mildly panic. What were they going to do? _What were they going to do!?_

This did nothing for Gold’s nerves, as the ghostly bear hadn’t been in front of a crowd of children like this in over thirty years. But now he was solid, and it wouldn’t be long before the stricken children would choose to be terrified or happy to see him. Judging from the looks on some of the youngest ones faces, Mike was beginning to bet it wouldn’t be with open arms and bright smiley faces. (Not that Mike or even Gold, blamed the kids. The bear _was_ pretty spooky from his eight foot height, his black eyes, and his girth.)

Gold’s fever-bright optics swung to Freddy’s blue ones across the floor. For one fleeting second, Gold looked helpless and lost, and Freddy knew it to be Mike coming through. Thinking quickly, Freddy stepped up in front of Gold and spread his arms wide. All the children’s wide eyes were moving to Freddy, which was good. The bear knew how to work a crowd, was programmed for it.

“Boy and girls!” Freddy projected, as if he’d activated today knowing just what to say. “My, you all been _such_ well-behaved misters and misses that we Fazgangs have for ya special Halloween treat!” Freddy called jovially, acting excited and eager. Bonnie caught on quick, winked at Faz and flanked the towering Gold’s other side. There was a reason Bonnie was Freddy’s right hand bun.

“That’s right, kids!” Bon-incula gushed. “See, this here is _Golden Freddy_ , a one-of-kind suit! And he heard about your costumes and just _had_ to come see them for himself—isn’t that right, _Goldie_?”

The frozen yellow bear, who was still being watched with mild suspicion by the parents, jerked and nodded. Mike, inside Gold’s body and watching from his part of their shared mind worried about Gold’s inability to talk except for jerky, short and loud phrases.

“The thing is,” Fazbear leaned in, whispering conspiratorially to the children, who ate it right up. “The thing is, ya’see, poor Goldie is just about as skittish as a colt. Now, he don’ talk much, why, not much at all. So, if you ask him sumthin, don’t you be sad now if he don’t respond.”

Freddy cast his optics with far more seriousness to the remaining parents who were with their kids, and nodded. They all seemed to buy it, just like any parent at a place designed for children’s easy whims and imaginations. Clearly, the parents saw it, as the person controlling the yellow bear suit couldn’t talk properly while in the costume. That seemed normal enough, not even the ones at DisneyLand did that.

Chica was suddenly there, shoving a huge platter of sugar cookies into Gold’s massive paws. Gold/Mike got the hint and thanked her with a desperate mumble, but Chica shooed them into the crowd. Gold kept his stomping to a minimal, which meant he could really only pick an open area of the Dining Hall and try not to move much except turning and bending over to lower the tray.

“Hey kids, looks like Goldie’s got some treats for you little tricksters!” Bonnie pointed out. “Remember your manners, and if you have a dairy or flour allergy, see Chica for another treat, okay?”

Well, that did it. Once the usual animatronics started gushing over Gold, the children soon settled their fears. And when the amazing, hand decorated treats were spotted any fear dissolved to excitement. All the kids worried about now were getting their hands on one of the giant pumpkin cookies big as their skulls. Gold’s looming stature actually helped, no child attempted more than one cookie, all thanked him, and soon he was left alone with just an empty tray.

Mike supposed, from behind Gold’s mind, that this was a good a costume as any.

The amused grunt of emotion he felt from Golden Freddy affirmed his thoughts, and Mike relaxed. Gold went on with cookie-hand out duty, and went through all ten of Chica’s trays before realizing he was running out of gas, as it were. Mike was getting tired. Not only that, he was out of cookies anyway! But most kids who passed him—even ones who had just gotten here—already had one.

Chica giggled at him as she strode by with a steaming, delicious looking pizza. Mike’s stomach growled. At least, he thought it did.  

“Why don’t you go return that to the kitchen Goldie, and take a break?” She spoke sweetly to Gold, as if sensing the exhaustion. “Wearing that _Suit_ of yours must be _tiring_.”

Gold’s expression said she didn’t even know. The golden bear lumbered through the doors it had come. After dropping off the tray it moved out the other doors of the kitchen, into the hall and shuffled straight and turned right. Double checking that absolutely no one was near the office, Gold closed both doors, but it was Mike sucked in greedy lungful of air and collapsed on the rolly chair.

“Oh god, okay…” Mike sat back, feeling sweaty and gross. “Damn. Longest I’ve been a Suit, all I did was hand out cookies and I need a nap.”

 _M’sorry Michael._ Echoed a heavy, equally tired voice between his ears.

“Eh…it’s okay, Gold.” Mike was too tired to think back, so he spoke. “Freddy can hold down the fort, I just need a quick fifteen.”

_Then I’ll take a rest for both of us._

Mike snorted in amusement but just focused on getting his strength back.

Left with nothing to do but stare at his desk, his eyes fell on the box he had brought in from home this morning.

“I wanted to give these to him tonight, too…” Mike rubbed his face wearily. Down the hall was the distant din of children, music, and the general buzz of chatter a crowd of people generated. Finally, when he knew his limbs wouldn’t shake from the exertion, Mike stood and lifted the box top off.

The crayons and reams of paper stared back at him. Mike grabbed the top one, wrote on it, and then left it on top of his desk.

_Dear Arthur,  
Now you can make your own stories up! Let me know if you ever need new crayons. -Mikey_

* * *

“Quittin’ time!” Freddy’s deep voice ran throughout the restaurant. Freddy only said this when the last customer and the last staff had left. Everyone was on their stage, posed like they were simply going to shut down for the night. This is what anyone who assumed the Fazgang was only comprised of robots would think.

“…now Bon, help me get these blasted bolts off.” The bear’s tone was a little bit tired, more ‘done’ than anything else. Despite this, Bonnie still gave him a hard time.

“Aww, but Faz! You look so swell, Mister _Fazenstien_.”

Freddy leveled Bonnie with a stare that would send a lesser spirit fleeing in terror.

But Bon-incula only cackled, set aside his guitar and wrenched himself from his stage port.

“Okay, okay. Hold still, dude.”

Freddy waited in abject relief as Bonnie got to work, and his blue illuminated optics tracked the man walking out from the kitchen. A big red Fox was on his heels, which wasn’t unusual. Fazbear was less watching Mike, and more staring in bemusement at the plate covered in four pieces of pizza and French fries.

“Hungry, son?” Freddy joked playfully, as Mike wandered over.

 _“Donff judgff mee.”_ Mike managed around a mouthful of cheese. With some effort, he swallowed, ending in a coughing fit. Foxy thumped him worriedly on the back. When Mike could breathe and speak again, he took a seat on the stage by his friend’s name plates.

“I didn’t know I was going to be on cookie-duty today.” Mike sucked down some soda. “I would have carbo-loaded.”

“You did a great job though, Mikey.” Chica promised sweetly, “You and Gold both. But I don’t think you’ve ever been a Suit for that long before, had you?”

“No, I hadn’t.” Mike agreed, already starting on his second slice. “Hence why I had to raid the fridge, Chica. I hope that’s cool?”

“Sure, it was the leftovers from single slice sales anyway, right? Enjoy!”

Chica was already off the stage and headed for the kitchen. Bonnie finished removing the last of Freddy’s costume and set aside the parts into the box Mike pointed out.

“So gang, how was your Halloween?” Mike smiled as he watched them get down. “Think we should do it next year?”

“Oh, for sure.” Bon’s ears bobbed. “I think next year, though, I’ll go as a…hmm, a pirate.” Bon snuck a sly look at the red fox standing near him.

“Like hell you will, rabbit.” Foxy grunted, giving him a warning glance with his exposed, orange optic.

Bon’s poking did as intended. The two got into one of their normal little arguments like usual. No one ever seemed to win, but then that wasn’t the point. Mike didn’t have siblings but he knew what they were like when they went at each other.

“Where’s the puppet?” That was Freddy, leaning against the stage beside the night guard, who was still inhaling his food.

“Dunno.” Mike sounded unconcerned. Which wasn’t rare at all, come to think of it. “I figured I’d give him and Art some space after what happened earlier. I still don’t know what set off that little episode but…”

“Weren’t nuthin to worry about, son.” Freddy soon filled in. Though he hadn’t been there, he knew. All of the original models knew how the child felt about masks. “If it were, the puppet woulda come to ya by now.”

“Yeah. That’s why I figured.” Mike sounded distracted, but seemed to be letting this day’s mystery slide. When it came to the crying child, Mike forced himself to keep his curiosity down a few notches. The poor kid seemed to just want to be left alone.

Freddy watched him for a long pause before giving a mildly frustrated, electronic noise. A robot’s version of a sigh.

“Do me a favor, son. _Chew_?”

Mike, around a long gooey string of cheesy, grinned.

“I’m not making any promises.”

* * *

It was a dark and stormy night. Rather fitting for Halloween night, if you asked Foxy.

 He kept one ear trained on the dull rumbling, and the other on the sound of the arcade games going off in the Dining Hall. No doubt, Mike and Bonnie were trying to beat each other’s score again. He nudged aside his curtains but leaned back out at some far off noise. When he heard a faint slither of noise somewhere behind him in his little Cove, he pulled his long muzzle back in. Turning to watch the Marionette glide across the small stage to him, the animatronic fox pushed his lower jaw shut and inclined his head.

_“For the entire day, the staff, the animatronics, even the children were covered in costumes and props….but not you, Foxy.”_

“Aye. Ye know why I declined, Devil.” Foxy regarded the Puppet warily; his glass optics trained on what he could see moving behind Marion’s long, ghostly strings. Those strings kept him anchored to Arthur. Not for the first time, Foxy wondered what kept the little dead child anchored. It could be those strings worked both ways.

“Ye coulda told the lad.” Foxy finally commented, watching the being he referred to as the Black Devil glide toward the curtain to watch for itself. “Might have helped him understand a bit. S’not his fault, anymore than it were the lil crying lad’s.”

 _“True.”_ The Puppet agreed. A long silence stretched between them, heavy and cold like the Marionette or like Foxy’s own metal frame. The pirate fox gave an electronic sigh, signifying his growing frustration and took up a slow pace. Interestingly, the next one to break the silence was not Foxy.

 _“My child appreciates your thoughtfulness. A mask is bad enough, but when it’s the body your brother wore to startle you, well…you can imagine how tense he has been.”_ The tone was light, but still held an edge to it. Foxy didn’t take it personally, like sometimes Freddy did. The Puppet wasn’t a friendly animatronic anymore, except with maybe Schmidt, which was odd and new. But Foxy liked to watch them, mostly because he was proud of their night guard. 

_“He waited all day for someone to come in dressed like yourself. Wearing your head like a trophy. He has been waiting since 1984.”_

“He was young when he died, weren’t he? That child a’yours. Younger than, than any’a the kids was back when the…met their end.” Foxy thought back to the teenager Afton had forced into his suit so many years ago. He remembered the faces and names of all four of the children, just like he knew his friends did. Freddy’s boy was Tommy. He’d been a little leader type just like the bot he was haunting, and he and the Captain had gotten along like a vessel a’flame. Chica’s was a shy little wisp, another boy, Martin. Liked watching her cook, didn’t much like strangers or loud noises. Bonnie’s little girl had her throat cut for trying to scream for help, leaving a mark on her young neck not even Death could hide. Bonnie put his spare bow around it but she could never quite project her voice above a whisper. Often she only whispered to Bonnie, come to think of it. But she and Martin got along swimmingly.

And then…

 _“Then there was your child.”_ The Puppet’s tone broke his memory track and Foxy looked away. Foxy couldn’t honestly say he liked the Puppet’s ability to read their minds.

 _“The oldest. The teenager.”_ Its voice box turned to a faint hiss.

_“That **rotten little** **spawn** of Afton’s.”_

“They be moved on, Devil.” Foxy warned suddenly, turning with the beginnings of a glare. “It ain’t right to speak ill o’the dead. Specially not when they’re staring up through the floorboards.”

 _“As far as I’m concerned, he was the only one who got what was coming to him.”_ Marion said dismissively, his skeletal hand waving through the air. Foxy wondered how friendly Mike would be to his black shadow if the night guard knew how absolutely vicious Marion could be. Then Foxy remembered this was the same man who took on a murderous Fazbear when he was controlled by King, and decided it probably wouldn’t make much difference to Mike as long as Mari listened when Mike said no. Mike was like that, and though Foxy couldn’t empathize, it made him love the night guard that much more.

“…maybe he was.” Foxy still looked sour. He had known the eldest brother far better than any o them—no matter what the Marionette liked to think. “That don’mean he didn’t try and make what was right since his dying day. He was the one who told you bout Mike, remember.”

_“He was also the one who thought his little brother wanted to give Fredbear a big kiss.”_

Foxy, who knew better than to poke the Marionette when it was like this, fell silent. The pirate turned its thoughts inward again, digging up the old memory files on the soul who haunted him for years. It was true, that boy had been the first to ‘ _join the party’_ as it were. The Puppet didn’t even need to tie down the older brother’s soul. It stayed within Foxy out of sheer anguish and regret. Only Foxy himself knew how much the older brother regretted it all, how he had gone to Arthur’s little hospital bed and tried to apologize. After Afton had…made things _Balanced_ , as the sick man put it, Foxy had been decommissioned. His metal suit had rotted alongside a corpse of a young teenager, which had been removed when Afton was good and ready.

Still, Foxy didn’t think it was right of Afton to go off the deep end, and throw his eldest overboard like that. Granted the robot didn’t know much about parents and fathers and mothers. But even Foxy knew that a parent killing its child was about as taboo as it could get. Worse, even, than a brother killing a brother.

As Foxy saw it, an eye for an eye made the whole world blind. After all, Afton himself ended up sending how many years trapped inside a Suit just like the one he had forced his eldest into? Oh yes, things had a way of coming full circle here at Freddy’s, and if you were smart about it then you kept your nose clean and your face on the horizon.

Thanks to Mike and Gold, those children had all moved on by now. Even his teenager, though Foxy suspected he hadn’t quite so much as moved on as he had started haunting somewhere else. In time, maybe the fox would meet the boy again, but for now? The older brother was gone, no one was tormenting Arthur, and they had Schmidt looking out for all of them.

“Tell that little child ‘a yours, devil, he always gotta place in Foxy’s Cove.”

 _“No need, Captain.”_ The Puppet said in its velvety voice. _“You have just told him yourself. Now, if you’ll excuse me. There is paper and crayons that need to be made into a new story…”_

Foxy turned, yellow optics alighting on the small spectral from of the child that was staring back at him. His cheeks were tear stained, and his shirt was stripped. The lad was as small and meek looking as ever. Still, the Crying Child who’d started it all, waved shyly. Foxy gave his best, nonthreatening smile and waved back with his only hand. Arthur, his wrists, ankles and neck connected to the puppet by those silvery strings that didn’t always catch the light, floated after the Marionette trustingly. They soon vanished down the hall.

Foxy listened to the thunder outside, and hummed his song a bit.

It was a dark and stormy night, but the sunrise was coming soon. It always did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foxy was referring to the fact the Older Brother is in the Crying Child’s mindscape from Ghost Strings. I hope you liked this story! I’m not sure which one is next, but there’s a body swap one that’s just begging to be worked on…stay tuned for danger!


	3. Mechanical Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A break-in livens up Mike’s now boring night and reminds him exactly why the pizzeria went through so many security guards. Takes place between Ghost Strings and Finding Freddy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: This whole scenario is a classic in FNAF fanfics. Some poor burglar breaks in, protective!animatronics, whump!Mike, you get the picture. For those of you who’ve always wondered how the knight guard versions of Mike and the gang would fair during this sort of set-up, you will wonder no longer. I’ve wanted to do this plot for a while, but it never really fit into any of the other three stories. (And, like I said, it’s not terribly original. But hey, junk food still tastes good even if its junk food, amirite?)

_"I'm not jealous, I'm territorial. Jealous is when you want something that's not yours. Territorial is protecting what already is."_

* * *

  **Episode 2. Mechanical Instinct**

“Mr…Mr. Schmidt?” Bea the waitress approached the man’s long legs which were poking out from under the stage.

“Yo?” It was muffled but Mike’s usual pleasant tone.

“Well, ah, I’ve finished the tables with the others and we just wanted to let you know we were about to get ready to leave.”

“Wow, already? Great Bea, thank you!” Mike inched out a bit to grin up at the young woman. “You guys take it easy, I’ll see you Monday.”

The college student wandered back to her friends, who were each almost ready to go. Alex was tugging on his coat when he looked over at her for a second.

“Boss say we’re good?” Alex asked what the little group was all hoping. It was a job, and they were treated fairly, but sometimes when night fell…well, sometimes when night fell you became distinctly aware that you were not welcome at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria anymore. The feeling would pass with the sunrise, as long as you lasted to see it. Or, in their case, got the hell out of dodge as soon as their shift ended.

“Yep,” Bea turned so Sandy could untie her apron for her. “I almost told him I’d see him tomorrow. I keep forgetting the restaurant’s closed on Sundays, now.”

“It’s the only way.” Sandy whispered toward her, as if someone was listening or she was talking about something particularly scandalous. “Remember? This place is just _hemorrhaging_ money I heard.”

“Where did you hear that?” Alex asked, not a gossiper himself, but always keeping an ear out for it. “I thought we were doing pretty well.” Mike was even taking home checks for himself again. That was the thing about their boss. When you saw him pay you first and him second, you tended to stick around for reasons besides the money.

“I heard the bunny saying it to the chicken.” Sandy said with a sharp nod.

“And you _believed_ it?” Alex checked for his keys. “That bunny’s always going on about something. He exaggerates worse than the fox-guy does during Show Time.”

“I wonder if Bonnie would speak like that about something so serious, though…” Bea mumbled.

“Of course it would, it’s a computer. It’s programmed to _act_ like a braggy teenager, so that’s _all_ it’s going to be.” Alex said matter-of-factly, and didn’t seem in the mind to think otherwise. He was stationed in the kitchen, so while he saw Chica around he didn’t stay on the floor like Bea and Sandy did, putting them near the animatronics more than him.

The three of them became distinctly aware of the floor quivering. They all lapsed into slightly embarrassed silence, trying not to stare as Freddy Fazbear himself lumbered from the arcade toward the stage. Fred himself didn’t talk much except to kids and of course, Schmidt.

Mike told all new employees that if they needed something and couldn’t find him, to go to Freddy first. Many either waited, or dropped the subject altogether. Freddy wasn’t a very friendly bear, unless you were a kid, and of course, Schmidt.

And if he heard you talking about something he didn’t think was ‘appropriate talk? Then you got stared at until you either apologized or changed the subject. It was still sweet, somehow, that despite all of Freddy’s curt mannerisms to every other Adult, he truly seemed to enjoy Mike’s company. Bea couldn’t remember seeing them apart once Fred lumbered off stage with his friends. She knew they were only pre-programmed computer personalities, but she also knew what she saw every time she worked here. Freddy followed Mike everywhere, and enjoyed the company of night guard even in the most mundane events.

She often heard the techs complain the way Freddy behaved for them, how he argued and shut off parts of his body stubbornly. But plenty of times after closing and during clean up, the staff knew that if Freddy needed work done, it was being done by Mike in Parts and Service. And perhaps even more touching, Freddy didn’t seem to need anyone besides Mike to make him happy in the first place.

Their boss was just scrambling out from under the stage for good, wiping his hands on a rag. He must have heard—or more likely felt—Freddy coming and was now eagerly showing off to Faz whatever it was he had fixed this time.

Judging by Freddy’s pleased and fond look, what Mike had done had made the big robot bear happy.

“You should ask old Fazzy about what you heard.” Alex egged to Sandy, who looked so mortified she almost dropped her purse.

Bea looked to him with a frown, “I don’t see _you_ walking up to talk to Freddy either.”

“Yeah—because I want to keep his laser-death ray stare from burning off my clothes!” The young man responded. “I’m not stupid!”

“Oh, but _I_ am?” Sandy

“Look, I didn’t say that—“

Bea hung back as her work-friends headed for the double doors. She bit her lip, watching the two interact.

Mike was in the middle of saying something, waving his hand nonchalantly over his shoulder. Whatever it was, he didn’t seem fazed by it, but Freddy’s stern stare told her otherwise. Freddy grumbled something in response, but Mike’s answer was only a theatrical, affronted gasp before he pouted. Bea giggled at his ‘hurt act’ before heading for the doorway, glancing behind her once more. Mike was giving the bear a playful push. That is, he leaned all his weight on two palms and shoved uselessly. More or less, he was antagonizing Freddy Fazbear himself. Freddy didn’t so much as move, but his acrylic teeth suddenly showed for a brief instant in a swift, mischievous gnash of teeth.

Then Freddy gave an indigent sniff. The animatonic raised a paw bigger than a plate, and lazily brought it down with a swing of his thick arm. Mike dodged the half-hearted swipe of Freddy’s massive paw and struck a pose that was apparently supposed to be threatening. His long, twig arms were extended on both sides and his fingers curled in ‘claw’ shapes. Mike bared his teeth. The sharp glint in his blue eyes betrayed his play-fight posture, and with a battle roar—that more or less was just ‘ _raah_!’—the night guard launched into Freddy’s girth.

He bounced off like a piece of rubber, looking a bit stunned from where he’d ended up on the stage. Freddy’s chuckle was low and slow, but his look was smug as hell. This time Bea could hear them.

“Could try that again.” Freddy rumbled teasingly. “Might let you win this time.”

“Do I wanna take that chance though?” Mike asked with a laugh, then decided. “Come on big guy, I can take you! Put em’ up.”

Freddy snorted again, giving a roll of his optics. He stilled however, turning his head over his shoulder.

 “Help you with sumthin, Miss Bea?” Mike tried to lean around the animatronic, but Freddy was too big.

The waitress squeaked like a mouse, managed a ‘no!’ and a ‘good night!’ and hurried after her friends.

“Be nice.” Mike said with a smile on his face, leaning back on his palms as their wrasslin’ moment passed. Freddy glanced back at him, but just grunted.

* * *

“It sure is dark out this evening.” Chica’s voice came from the front of the restaurant, where she had just turned the ‘Open’ sign to ‘Closed.’ The last child and her family had left a few hours ago, and then so had the staff, but the animatronics did things by the book. Even if no one showed up in the last hour, the doors didn’t close and lock until nine o clock, and not a second sooner. Robots were good at time like that.

“New moon, I think.” Was Freddy’s answer from the stage, where he stood shining their name plates. Freddy liked cleaning, it kept him busy. “Lotsa clouds too, darlin’.”

“And _still_ no lil night guard of ours.” Bonnie chimed in suddenly as he entered the Dining Hall.

“Y’know, it’s not like Schmidt to take this long. Even if he is running out for parts.” He spoke up again when Freddy was uncharacteristically silent.

“Sure it’s just traffic, Bon.”

But Bonnie and Chica shared a knowing look. Freddy tended to act calm and almost disinterested when things had the potential to go south. They knew he did it because he didn’t want them to worry. Freddy worried enough for all of them, to the point they thought he would stress himself into an early Termination. He hadn’t yet though—but then, Freddy had never really ever worried after the humans they worked with.

Mike was different, though.

Mike, Freddy had decided was someone _worth_ worrying over. And Freddy had seemed to decide this somewhere after the incident during Mike’s first week here. After everything with King had come to a head, Mike had been left. He had stayed—he had chosen to stay in fact, of his own volition and because he seemed to really care about the business and the animatronics. And despite Freddy seriously endangering him and arguably nearly killing him, Mike had even forgiven the old animatronic in his friendly, eager-to-please way. Bonnie and Chica wondered if Freddy had ever expected to become so close to their night guard, but knew better than to ask. They adored their leader, but sometimes he seemed to try to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Even for a robot, there was still a limit and Freddy had started turning cold and sour to the rest of the world until he had bonded with their night guard. Now, Freddy had a better handle on himself—the lack of awful controlling equipment helped too—but sometimes he still got a little…possessive.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon!” Chica finally spoke up, as much for herself as the big old bear animatronic in the corner. Who was polishing Bonnie’s nameplate. Again.

It was exactly twelve minutes later when a beat up old car rolled slowly up to the restaurant.

“Mike’s back!” Bonnie called eagerly, and then paused. His ears twitched, and he glanced at Chica for confirmation. Sometimes—and especially so far off—his ears got things wrong. Chica’s expression confirmed Bonnie’s little seed of confusion.

 “That’s…not his car.” Chica had followed Bonnie’s pointing ears to see for herself, her optics in a slightly better condition than the bunny’s.

“And why’re the headlights off?” Bonnie asked.

Freddy, however, had a different response.

“Everyone to the stage.” Faz commanded. “Now.”

It wasn’t just out of programming, but also respect that the gang immediately moved to their spots at Freddy’s words. Foxy’s ragged tail had only just vanished behind his curtain when the car’s doors opened. Freddy shifted to his default pose and killed the illumination to his optics before anyone outside could notice them. He could detect Bonnie and Chica doing the same, though he thought he heard the bunny’s ears shifting slowly and the cupcake’s big comic eyes rolling toward the front door.

There were three figures, though Freddy couldn’t see well enough to make out certain features. His Facial Recognition remained off until he could do so, but they all had a good idea what was going on. The black night made these humans in their dark clothing almost invisible and his darkened optics weren’t helping. He watched them slink out of the car, each holding something long and heavy looking, before they headed round back without even checking the front doors.

Of course, it made sense to him. As much as it made him angry too. A break-in to a suddenly booming business that was closed the following day? On a night with a full moon no less? They might as well have left the cash register outside.

Freddy gritted his acrylic teeth at the sound of glass breaking somewhere in the back of the restaurant. Bonnie’s ears twitched toward the noise almost eagerly, but everyone remained in place.

“Faz—what do we do?” Bonnie asked, his volume almost to mute and his big purple jaw still. He remained staring forward over the empty, half-lit Dining Hall. “Think we’ll have to…y’know? _Do what we used to?”_

“Stay still.” Freddy sent back, just as quietly. “All of you. They’ll get what they came for, then run off like the weasels they are. No one gets hurt. No one gets…stuffed.” He wasn’t risking his family to these hooligans, especially if they came with weapons that could harm any of them. And he certainly wasn’t risking doing what that blasted nephew of Afton’s had made him do all those months ago.

That being said, sometimes what Bonnie said was true. Sometimes to do some good you gotta be the bad guy.

“Lucky Mikey’s not here. He’d prolly keep Gold in and go off and be all heroic or some junk.” Bon grunted, but the cupcake on Chica’s plate suddenly gave a soft delighted chirp, the same noise it made when it saw Mike coming at it with new batteries.

“Oh, no…” Chica moaned in her own whisper. The three of them followed her cupcake’s gaze toward the parking lot. There was the ancient gremlin pull up the driveway, and saw its body jerk in confusion as the driver hit the brakes. Freddy wasn’t surprised; Mike always had been good at noticing when the pattern changed.

“Gotta admit,” Bon muttered as they could see Mike jump out sprint for the back door. “Kid’s got timing. And timing in showbiz _is_ everything.”

Freddy spared his friend a sour look.

* * *

Foxy stuck his muzzle out from between the curtains, but sharply drew it back in.

He didn’t have the ears Bonnie had, and Creator knows his cameras saw in fuzzy blurs even on good days. Foxy shuffled awkwardly in his hunched over position, trying to make himself seem smaller than he was. That was a good strategy as any for Foxy, because his exposed metal frame didn’t allow him to be sneaky like Faz. Foxy stilled for a moment, finally hearing someone else approach. He had tracked three footsteps, and was confident that this poor, stupid soul was the one at the end of the pack. Foxy’s plan was simple, take out the lubber at the end, before he could alert any of the others who were already deeper into the bowels of the restaurant.

Suddenly, the figure darted into his Cove and the big metal fox snarled, lunging his big maw out on reflex with a wide snapping motion—

“Foxy, whoa _whoa_ —!!“ A familiar voice hissed sharply, and Foxy felt two hands land on his long muzzle and brace themselves there as he froze mid snap.

 “Foxy, it’s me,” Mike whispered, throwing a look over his shoulder to make sure no one had noticed.

“Lad!” Foxy grumbled back, waiting for Mike to move before he stood back up to his full height. Mike scooted deeper into the back of the Cove and Foxy followed. “Forgive ole Foxy, ye know how I feel bout landlubbers in me space.”

“I know,” Mike smiled, giving Foxy an affectionate rub on the same muzzle that nearly took a hunk out of his stomach. “Don’t worry, right about now I feel just as threatened. They broke the Prize Room’s window and who knows what else. Freddy’s gunna have kittens if they keep it up.”

“Oh, I think we’re a frog’s hair past that point, lad.” The pirate fox commented idly, watching Mike dig about behind the Red Fox’s huge, looming front.

“Okay, then let’s just focus on keeping the rest of the pizzeria in one piece.” Mike stood up, holding two plugs in his hand. “How does that sound?”

With a dangerous grin, he shoved the plugs together. With a surge so strong it made the overheads flutter, the Red Fox came to rickety, over-excited life. Foxy’s prerecorded voice burst from the speakers, loud and boasting.

_“Welcome one and all, ta Foxy’s Pirate Cove! Load yer tokens now, and ole Foxy’ll tell ya a tale of adventure!”_

Foxy shot Mike a puzzled look, but the night guard put his finger before his lips, the international ‘shh’ sign. The Cove’s audio blasted through the silent restaurant, sounding out of place. It was, after all, meant to be heard above the usual din of the restaurant during operating hours.

Right now, it just sounded like one big distraction.

Despite Foxy’s look at him, Mike simply motioned for him to crouch down in a dark corner of his Cove, and hide. No sooner had Foxy slowly but obediently done this, when a figure shoved the curtain aside and stormed in. The figure was presumably male, stocky like a set of barrels and face hidden behind a dark blue ski-mask obscuring every feature but the narrowed, beady eyes. He wielded a crowbar and dangerous air of confidence that would cost him in a few seconds.

“What the fuck is—“ The man had the decency to freeze when he saw Mike just standing there, unarmed and hands on his hips.

“Welcome to Pirate’s Cove.” Mike said cheerfully, leaning back on one hip as the man raised a heavy crowbar threateningly.

“Now, time to meet the pirate,” said the night guard, with an uncharacteristic smugness in his tone.

There was a throaty snarl from behind Mike, the noise more machine than animal as Foxy lurched out from his hiding spot.

Foxy gave a low, rumbling cackle and started to advance slowly, still ducked and almost on all fours to make himself look meaner. Those narrowed, mean eyes went wide with fear and horror and, to his credit, the thief tried to turn tail.

“Foxy?” Mike shot a smile down where the big ole robot was crouched. “ _Fetch_.”

The pirate fox spared Mike one large, toothy grin before he lunged off into a dead sprint.

Not less than a minute later, Foxy came in with his loot. He treated it much more carelessly than the usual things he found himself driven to snatch and tuck away—things like shiny bottlecaps, paperclips, ruined unusable tokens, and at least twice a week Mike’s watch—and instead dropped the body of the stunned but alive thief onto the floor of his stage.

“Only got onna’em, lad.” Foxy grunted to the night guard who was pulling down from spare rope from behind the Red Fox.

“Don’t worry Foxy. We’ll get ‘em.” Mike finished tying the man’s arms behind his back and rolled his eyes at the half-glare the dizzied man managed to give him.

“Didn’t any one ever teach you not to steal treasure from a pirate?” Mike snorted at the thief, who took one look at the pissed off metal monster of a pirate—that Mike was just leaning on like it was a harmless armchair!—and wisely shut his mouth.

“Didn’t call fer help from his lil crew.” Foxy observed slowly to his friend.

“No…no he didn’t.” Mike’s eyes narrowed as he considered this. “He either doesn’t think they would help or there’s another plan going on besides get money and get out.”

“What’s better than money, lad?” Foxy asked, eyeing the shiny buckles on the man’s boots. Surely, he wouldn’t need them where he was going…

But Mike’s mind had raced ahead, and he froze.

“Crap. I can think of one thing that’s better.” Mike slapped his forehead and turned on his heel.

“Scrap metal. The kind you can find just _lying around_ in a place filled with animatronics, sunvabitch!! You keep an eye on this guy Foxy, I’ll go see if I can’t round up the others.” Mike said, and with that, he ducked out from the curtain and was gone.

“Better hope yer lil crew don’t do nuttin ta harm that lad of ours.” Foxy commented grimly, leaning down to stare dead on at the frightened burglar with his good, orange optic.

“Cause ya don’t wanna find out who gets upset when the Cap’n does.” The pirate warned with a smirk.

“He be a _lot_ less kind an understandin’ than me ‘bout it, after all.”

* * *

Back when he was a regular target for a gang of human-hunting robots, Mike Schmidt had gone through an intensive on the job training course. Mostly, it involved staying alive long enough to clock out, but there was some other perks to the skill set he had picked up since he started working at Freddy’s.

Learning how to sneak was one of them. He slipped along the walls, sticking low to the floor and peeked round a corner. The Fazgang didn’t so much sneak as meander, but their innerworkings betrayed almost any stealth they could use to their advantage. But Mike had learned quick—he could used the movements of others to hide his own. It was out of place sounds people heard, they were less likely to hear sounds that they thought they were making. You don’t hear yourself walk, but you hear the groaning noise coming down the hall.

Mike rolled his eyes at Bonnie’s far off theatrics. It worked, because Mike heard muffled cursing and muttering up ahead. Someone was doubling back the way they’d come, which was perfect.

“Told ‘im I was fuckin’ hearin’ sumffin,” wheezed a deep voice, belonging to one of the robber’s. “But they don’listen ta ole Willy, no sirree, them fucking morons,”

Mike slithered into a dark corner, flattening himself against the wall and sliding down a bit. This man was also dressed in black, and gripped something long and heavy looking in his hand as he moved. Mike waited until he was just close enough, waited until he was so fcused on getting away from Bonnie, and he wasn’t paying attention.

The night guard stuck his leg out, felt a heavy steel-toed boot hook on his taped up converse, and cheered silently as the robber swore and went down like a ton of bricks.

_“Sunva mother!! Fuckin goddammit--”_

“Hey now, watch your language man,” Mike cackled, watching with a glint of satisfaction in his friendly smile as the man jumped at the sound of his voice. “You don’t want my best friend to hear that kind of talk, his swear jar’s been real empty lately.”

“Who’re you—“ But the man eyed his badge as he started to get up. “The security? Tch. Where’s the rest a’yas?”

“Hey, rude.” Mike paused, feigning hurt as he came up with a plan.

The more Mike studied, the more Mike saw.

This man was built like a tank—shorter and smaller than Freddy for sure, but Mike wasn’t exactly a prime specimen for the human race. He couldn’t hear Bon anymore, but likely the bunny was on someone else’s trail, which meant Chica was with him (because those two always moved together) and Foxy was guarding Burglar #1. That left Freddy, but Mike didn’t think he needed help for this. After all, he was a night guard wasn’t he!

Mistake number one.

This size difference was unfortunate though, because already Mike could feel that this was the sort of person who had gotten away with bullying people his whole life. His muscles, his height, his growling. But Mike wouldn’t be intimidated, and he told the thief as much. The snarky attitude only served to piss the thief off more.

Mistake number two.

The first swing Mike ducked, it didn’t take Gold to do this but the added computer-like reflexes were a plus, the night guard wouldn’t deny that. The second swing was another story. The crowbar swung into his side, sending him against the wall with so much force the wind was swept from him. Mike crumpled like a tin can, rolling to his side to curl in on his pounding, possibly cracked ribs. He sucked in a shaky lungful of air, and looked up in time to see the robber lifting the bar for a final swing. This one was aimed at his skull, and all Mike could do was roll back to the left. The dull thud of the crowbar hitting the black-white linoleum was satisfying, but it wasn’t going to stop the man anytime soon.

Mike felt another surge in his chest, the same sensation that happened when Golden Freddy was rising to the forefront of their shared mind. Gold was asking the Suit to switch, and Mike grimly supposed this was a good a time as any.

He rolled to his knees, too late to see the man’s fist coming from the left. The smash to his ear made his whole head ring, and he couldn’t stop from crying out.

“Can’t slip outta this one,” The man spit from above, sounding pleased as Mike went down and didn’t get back up. His whole world was spinning.

Mike’s mind felt heavy and vacant all at once, which he supposed is how you know you’ve got a concussion on your hands, kids. Any mental flex for Golden Freddy sent back a throb of pain that made him knit his eyes shut. To make matters worse one of the crowbars that hadn’t gotten his skull had done a number on his ribs, so breathing wasn’t exactly rewarding either. He didn’t think it was broken, and even if it was his rapid regeneration cursory of Gold would most likely start up soon. He hoped. The ceiling spun as Mike tried to roll onto his uninjured side, but felt a boot connected with his stomach and send him flopping back to his prone position on his back.

“An’stay down, ya fucken moron,”

Mike groaned in the direction of the speaker.

“Watch your damn language, this is a fucking family place.” He ignored the mocking laughter all around him, and dammit, why couldn’t he Go Gold!? Mike wracked what brains he had left and his memory drudged up a long-ago conversation with a puppet who no longer existed.

* * *

_“Every superhero has some weakness Mari, Gold can’t be an exception, right?”Mike asked as he finished switching out BalloonBoy’s empty helium tank._

_“Well, it’s interesting that you mention that, night guard. I suppose they could be called weaknesses. To us, they are usually just normal programming limitations.” The puppet’s fingers tapped the side of its box in thought. “I can think of only two serious flaws, one being water and the other being yourself.”_

_“Water? Oh—actually, you know that one makes sense. But what about me?”_

_“The connection between you two is incredibly reliant on your soul, but it is also reliant on your consciousness.”_

_“So, what, I can’t turn into Gold if I’m sleeping?”_

_“Precisely. Think of it as a failsafe program, in a way. It would do no good for you to have a nightmare and Fredbear to respond outside your dreams.”_

_“That makes sense, I guess.”Mike admitted with an absent shrug._

_“At the end of the day, Fredbear is still the heart of a machine. He fears water of any kind. And if you cannot concentrate enough to let him Switch Suits with you, then it simply won’t work my dear night guard._

_You will have to wait until you are conscious or able to focus.”_

* * *

Mike groaned in frustration into the cold tile, his fist hitting it weakly. Well, that explained it. One good whack to the noggin and he was down for the count. At least for a bit.

_‘And until I can think without wanting to hurl, Gold’s not gunna have my back this time.’_

“Put the guard in a damn closet or sumthin, just gettim outta here and keep him quiet.” Mike heard a low mutter somewhere to his left, and then he was being lifted. Unsurprisingly, this did nothing for his body or his head. Mike decided he did end up having to vomit, he would aim for whoever’s shoes he saw first.

“Move it, come on, unless you wan’us ta bash yer brains in fer good ther’,”

“I don’t think my friends would like that,” Mike answered coldly, holding his palm flat to his head. He could feel blood in his hair but it wasn’t gushing as bad as he thought.

“Friends!” His handler guffawed, tugging him purposefully so Mike stumbled. “We know this place, you idiot, its one measly guard for the whole building. Yer cameras don’t even work,” ‘ _Because we haven’t needed them in almost a year,’_ Mike thought to himself sourly.

“An they didn’t even pick a tough one, we didn’t even need nuthin prolly to take you down you little shrimp!”

“Rather be a shrimp than a rat like you.” That earned another whack to the side, sending him against the wall so hard that he had to hold onto it to stay upright.

“Oughta shut that mouth you got boy, ‘fore I shut it for you—“

“You don’t have the guts.” It’s out before Mike can stop it.

Mike had enough handle on the dizzying pain behind his eyes that he could focus his gaze. He glanced groggily up in time to see the crowbar’s heavy descent upward and watched as it started to swing back the way it had come.

Until it stopped.

He didn’t close his eyes, staring instead at the confused body language of the burglar as he tried to wrench the crowbar up from behind him. It did not give, and Mike was distinctly aware of the first few notes of Toreador March tinkling from the darkness.

“Oh, no…” The night guard moaned, finally seeing those two tiny pinpricks of light above the thief.

The crowbar came swinging out from the darkness with much more force than humanly possible. It hit the tile so hard it dented one of the black ones, before bouncing uselessly behind Mike, who was still leaning heavily on the wall.

“What the fuck is—“

The same paw that had playfully pushed Mike onto the stage earlier now launched from the darkness and found the intruder’s throat, cutting off his cries with a choked finish of pain.

“Freddy, wait, don’t—“ Mike spluttered out, because not only was that grip to silence, but already the tree trunk limb was rising up. The tips of the man’s boots were almost off the ground and Freddy showed no signs of strain or stopping.

“Freddy, I said _stop it_.” And though Mike wasn’t yelling, his voice was harder, and even lower than usual. That tone finally got Freddy to look at him, before giving the struggling burglar a careless glance.

Freddy’s paws spread and the body dropped like a sack of potatoes. Mike’s assailant was given little time for recovery, before the man was caught again, this time by his collar. Anytime the human struggled, Freddy gave the fool a good shake, jostling him in warning.

“…thanks, big guy.” Mike murmured, giving the animatronic an affectionate pat on his forearm. If he saw the stunned, frightened look from the burglar he didn’t say anything about it.

Freddy coming to his aid was much welcome, but killing a human in Mike’s defense was not something the night guard would ever appreciate. Still, Mike was going to cut his losses, because to be honest he feared it was over the second Freddy saw the burglar take a swing. Fazbear, in particular, had always been the most _judicial_ of the gang. As well as the most ruthless.

Freddy held the dazed and mostly compliant burglar in his massive mitt, but shot Mike a worried, almost tender glance of concern when the night guard wobbled where he stood. Mike waved him off, shaking his head and then instantly wishing he hadn’t. Mike waited for the nausea to pass before he trusted his voice.

“One down, two to go.” Mike spoke as if the bear had said something. He had, of course, he and Freddy sometimes found it faster to communicate between looks than words. Besides, it kept the opponent guessing. “And I’m pretty sure one of them has a gun, so just, let’s tie him up and hand him over to Foxy.”

They needed to regroup, especially since Mike was sure the outside lines were cut. These guys were too careful, it was only by their single mistake in underestimating the bots that had startled to turn the tables. But until everyone was accounted for and the cops were coming to collect them, Mike wasn’t about to let his guard down.

“I warned you.” Mike muttered. He was still clutching his head with a now bloodied hand and leaning all his weight on that of Freddy Fazbear. “My friend _didn’t_ like that.”

* * *

Something was coming down the hallway.

The second to last burglar was built a bit like his little gang of goons. More muscle than brains, but enough to stay out of the line of firing so far. His buddies had all been picked off one by one, and this joint was small. Considering he couldn’t hear screams or nothing, it wasn’t looking too good for him. And ultimately, brawn wasn’t something that these freak-machines much cared about.  Jason knew this was a bad idea, but did his buddies listen to him? No. But then, did he try to stop them?

Also no.

As the robbers were being picked off one by one, Jason decided his best bet was fleeing the scene and denying ever being a part of this little robbery attempt. It was just supposed to be a quick job, get in, get some good hunks of scrap, get the fuck out. There was some mutter of a security guard, but Jason fully expected the others to handle the guy. The problem was they had no one to handle this…this gang of freaking robots! The guard must have a control unit over them, making them appear to move by their own. The grown man pressed his spine to the wall, holding his breath until his lungs started to burn.

He had almost made it, too! His first attempt got him lost, and his second got him to a door with EXIT over it. The sign was lit neon-red, but as he walked toward it, the ‘E’ and ‘X’ flickered and died, so now all it read was ‘It.’ That just proved this place was a shit hole, but Jason just scowled behind his ski mask and moved closer to the door.

It was then something big and yellow had come round the corner. It looked vaguely like a duck of some sort, except no duck had that many teeth. When its round head swung lazily in his direction, its eyes light up. And its mouth dropped open with a metal eeek noise, like an old rusty door.

It had raised its arms, but he had fled the way he’d come without waiting to see if it would follow him. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like it had.

_Shuffle._

_Lurch._

_Creak._

He didn’t dare look around the corner, he didn’t dare close his eyes and his hands were uselessly pressed to the wall on either side of him. If he had to run, he hoped pushing off would give him the time he needed to get away.

“ _Welcome to Freddy Fazbear’s_!” A robotic voice sounded. The tone was chipper, and too loud in the dull and dark pizzeria. Jason dared a soft breath, listening to the preprogrammed nonsense the damn robot was uttering as it stalked down the hall. It’s limp made it slow, but its ears made it sharp.

There was a soft hiss of hydraulics, but it was so faint it might as well have been a snake’s. The noise faded off, and a gear clicked several times. Jason didn’t have any kids, just one bitch of a girlfriend. But if he did, he would never take them to this freakshow dump. These robots were only good for one thing, but there was no way the company wouldn’t notice a missing robot that had been sold for spare parts.

Lurch.

Then, all went silent.

Jason dared another soft inhale. Was it leaving? It must be leaving.

Or maybe its battery died, or something like that. That would be a stroke of luck, the first of tonights actually.

He strained his ears, picking up every little sound and nothing at all, which made his paranoia worse.

That made it that much worse when the robot’s voice sounded right beside him.

 _“I’m Bonnie the bunny! And the only thing I love more than playing my guitar is playing games, ha-ha!”_ Any other time, the canned laughter would be ridiculous. In the here and now, it echoed in the hall.

Jason started, then tried to bolt.

A paw clapped down onto his shoulder, wrenching him off-balance just enough he stumbled. His cherry pink optics illuminated as he clamped his other paw around the burglar’s mouth, cutting off the terrified screaming.

“Tag,” Bonnie whispered over the man’s shoulder as he lowered his massive head, yellow teeth glinting in the dim light. The half-burned out Exit sign glowered above Bonnie’s ears, the ‘e’ and ‘x’ still black.

“ _You’re it.”_

* * *

The last one was hold up in the office.

Chica and Foxy had both chased this one, nearly getting him until the rat noticed the door buttons and slammed them shut. The power was out, yes, but Mike had kept the generator powering the office and Parts and Services for when hurricanes came through the valley. There hadn’t been one in years, but Mike wasn’t about to be caught off-guard in any situation. He was the night guard, after all.

 Still, this wasn’t the first time Mike’s smarts had thrown a wrench in the works. In this case, they had given the burglar an impressive hiding spot, and it would last for much longer than it used to. Mike had upgraded the damn generator, too. Increased profit meant better equipment, and it was all coming back to bite them.

Well, poor choice of words but regardless.

“Smart, that one.” Freddy grunted as watched the camera’s red light blinking. “We’re being watched.” The fool had found the tablet, then. Lovely.

The three bots stood on the stage in their respective places. They had retreated the instant they realized what the closed doors meant. Freddy was already there, standing stock still. Bonnie and Chica had quickly moved back into place when they saw the red light off. It was back on them now, only switching every few minutes. Likely, the burglar was checking on Foxy, the only other animatronic to worry about. But his Cove remained closed, hiding the other unconscious thief’s and one irritated fox from prying cameras.

“Foxy’s got the rest of ‘em, right? So they aren’t a problem anymore.” Bon muttered back, keeping his mouth still and speaking low. “Mike doing ok?”

“He’ll live.” Freddy stared, unblinking into the camera.

No one mentioned Mike again, not after the low snarl of Fazbear’s curt statement.

“I can hear you, y’know  I’m _fine_ , guys.” Mike muttered from where he sat slumped against Freddy’s legs behind him, sitting fully in darkness. He was thin and lean enough, that sitting like this kept him fully hidden from the camera. He was likely also the only thing keeping Freddy on stage at this point, too. Mike groaned wearily, closing his eyes as the nausea came back in full-force and pressed uselessly against his usual source of comfort and security. Freddy didn’t move, but they saw his big paws twitch around his microphone as if fighting the urge to break pose.

“You just rest, sweetie,” Chica cooed in her motherly way, even as she turned toward the camera and rolled her head to the side so her two jaws showed off her impressive teeth.

“And let _us_ get this last little _jailbird_.” This time, her tone was razor sharp, just like her beak.

“No killing…” Mike mumbled like he had a mouth full of cotton. It was likely he was going to pass out soon, though he stubbornly remained awake. “Promise?”

Silence.

“Freddy... _promise_.”

“…promise, son.” Freddy finally acquiesced. This seemed to mollify Mike, because he simply lapsed into silence, if slumped over and limp. Out of the corner of his optic, it looked like the way Gold sat for years, but Bonnie wisely kept _that_ little thought to himself. Fazbear was already plenty riled up.

“So, how we do this? Night one?” Bonnie did voice that question though, wanting to be clear on their plan. Freddy didn’t like mistakes, and his best friend wasn’t one to make them in the first place. Chica listened too, and they knew Foxy was likely listening in from down the hall.

“What’d’yall think, Bon?” Fred shot back, and though it was grouchy Bon knew it wasn’t aimed at him. Instead, the bunny gave a sinister smile.

“Ohhh. Well, in that case. 20/20/20/20 mode it is.” Bon’s optics rolled back up, turning pitch black with tiny white pinpricks. He heaved his feet from the stage and was soon across the room near the other camera trained on the tables. For a bunny with a limp, he sure could move still.

“Besides,” Chica giggled as she wrenched off her beak and flexed her two mouths as Cakey giggled. “You’d be surprised what you can live through.”

Freddy just watched them being moving, already hearing the familiar pounding of Foxy’s metal feet as he raced down the hall. The bangs came right after, utter music to Fazbear’s ears.

“…Freddy?” Behind him, sheltered by Freddy’s towering frame, Mike muttered the bear’s name. He sounded more in pain than he had a moment ago, and until Mike was up and moving again, Freddy knows he won’t feel right until that happens.

“You just rest, son.” Freddy soothed. “Ain’t nuthin gunna getcha up here.”

“It’s not me I’m worried ‘bout.” Mike slurred as he heard Foxy’s running start up again, already. “It’s the robber.”

_Bang!BangBang!_

Mike winced as he heard the frightened shouting, and finally he had to close his eyes. He leaned forward, because Freddy was no longer at his back for him to lean on. Resting his head in his folded arms, Mike waited for the screaming to stop. When he finally dared to turn, he was almost dizzyingly relieved to see the man was still breathing.

Freddy had kept his promise.

* * *

Mike watched tiredly as the robbers were marched away, handcuffed and their rights being read to them. He rubbed the lump on his head, squinting in the fluttering light of the line of patrol cars. He couldn’t tell what time it was…no sun, though there was a vague strip of pale light over in the east.

“Took you guys long enough.” Mike muttered as he saw a familiar figure approach.

“Woah, easy there, slugger.” Detective Nick arched a brow at the night guard. “Who spit in your coffee?”

“Them.” Mike gestured absently behind him as he turned on his hell, striding for the double doors of the restaurant. Detective Nick wandered, not far behind and Mike could feel the man’s eyes sweeping him up and down.

“Call-in mentioned several armed robbers—they, uh, they get you?”

“A few times. No guns, which is good. You know I hate guns.” Mike glanced behind him. “And no hospitals needed, either.”

Nick bobbed his head, glancing at the three animatronics frozen on stage. “Hard to believe you took them all yourself—those guys are built like linebackers.”

“Linebackers tend to be more for force and less for brains. I just out-thought them.” That much, at least, was true. Mike wasn’t a fan of lying, but he also knew his friends liked keeping a low profile. And that, as a rule, the Fazgang generally distrusted people in uniforms after all that had happened around them. Mike was one lucky exception, and he was a lucky exception that didn’t blame them.

“Uh-huh.” Wilde clearly wasn’t buying it, but thankfully Mike had already swept through the video feed and cleaned what he could of it. Not like anyone would ask to look at it, either, since nothing was stolen or considered ruined enough to be written up in the report. It was just one poorly attempted armed robbery, and maybe they would think twice next time before burglarizing a joint.

Mike turned, leaning on one of the arcade machines and gave the detective a mild frown.

“What’s with that look? You don’t believe me.” It was said as a statement, but Mike kept his tone even enough.

But the Detective didn’t respond right away. He merely gave Mike an appraising look through his shades (didn’t this guy ever take them off?) and shrugged with one shoulder. He appeared to be going for casual, as his air said as much.

“Anything ruined?” Detective Wilde said instead. “Need to add it to the report if so.”

“Nothing but the back door, but take a look around…” Mike winced as he poked a finger into his hair, the sensitive flesh throbbing. “I might have missed something.”

“Might have.” But Wilde didn’t wander long. He did, Mike observed, stop at Pirate’s Cove and give the frozen fox a fond pat on his long muzzle. Mike’s lips twitched despite the pain he was still in. The gang didn’t like badges and people wearing them—that was true. But Foxy was a prideful old soul, and Mike liked to think he would at least be nice to Nick. He wondered if Foxy remembered Nick as a boy, and made a mental note to ask the old seadog one day.

As the Detective came back through via the arcade, Mike cleared his throat and addressed the elephant in the room. Or rather, the massive looming bear with streaks of blood on his paws that he was trying to hide behind his microphone. The stage lights were off, and Nick didn’t go up there near the trio. Mike noticed Freddy’s unlit optics were firmly trained on Nick, but thankfully the detective was facing him, and not the main stage.

“Listen, those guys, the robbers—they might say something…weird.” Mike said delicately.

“Weird?” Wilde echoed calmly, hands in pockets. He always played the down-to-earth sort of character, but Mike saw through that in a heartbeat. Mostly because Mike himself liked to portray such an image. People gave you more when you were open, and when they thought you weren’t taking anything seriously. It was a good trick.

“Yeah. Weird. Like, ‘killer animatronics’ weird. Y’know?” Mike coaxed gently with a bob of his head, and regretted it. He gritted his teeth and must have swayed, because he felt Nick’s hand grab his upper arm and steady him. On the stage, Freddy grinded his teeth, but silenced with a curt look at Mike when he could spare it. ‘Be _have_ ,’ Mike’s look warned. Freddy obliged, begrudgingly.

“Killer animatronics? Mike, they don’t really think—“ Wilde glanced behind him, but Freddy’s optics were already facing out and up, into an imaginary crowd like he always posed. Wilde seemed uncertain, so Mike pushed on when he could talk without wanting to cry.

“You know I keep this place dark. Sometimes I uh, when I’m cleaning the stage, well. You can’t get water on these guys.” Mike went on, knowing his behavior would be chalked up to the concussion he was sporting, and that Wilde would most likely buy his explanation.

“So I take ‘em off stage, and put them off to the side so they won’t get wrecked. They twitch, the jolts of electricity from unhooking them from their power supply. But, because of that, y’know how it looks…”

“Like they’re moving themselves, right?” Nick snorted, sounding almost amused.

“Right.” Mike nodded, clutching the side of his head. He managed a weak, humorless smile. “They’ve even scared me more than once! I’ll come back and forgot where I put them and almost walk into them. It happens. But they **don’t** move on their own at night. Not without kids to entertain. They’re not…they’re not _alive_.” It hurt to say it, but he knew it was for the good of his friends, his family.

One of Bonnie’s ears twitched.

“But they can _look_ it, huh?” Wilde muttered, more to himself than Mike, who felt his palms start to sweat.

“Sure. To someone walking around in the dark trying not to be seen? Someone…who shouldn’t be there and knows it?” Mike volleyed back, seeing the affirmation in the Detective’s gaze. Hook, line, and sinker.

“I get your drift, Schmidt. I’ll handle it, if it comes down to it. A break-in is one thing, but you don’t really need more killer animatronic rumors spreading, right?”

Mike nodded. Wilde went on,

“But…maybe you should go to the hospital after all, huh? Hey,” he held up his hands in a placating manner at Mike’s irked glance. “I’m just doing my job.”

Mike leaned tiredly against the table, smiling as he watched Freddy’s arm shift. When Wilde wasn’t looking, he gave the bear a third warning look.

“No can do.” Mike murmured, voice low but carrying. “I’m the night guard. I stay here.”

And though Detective Wilde didn’t look happy, he didn’t ask again. He checked the Office, then Parts and Service.. A reporter was there, but all he asked for was a quick run-down, and Wilde offered to give it to him so Mike could lock up and get to work on cleaning. Relieved and owing the Detective a good deal at this point, Mike thanked him and did so.

About an hour later, Mike stood behind the closed glass doors to watch the patrol cars head down the laneway to the main road. He didn’t have to turn to know who was lumbering up behind him. The quivering floorboards and thrumming inner workings told him more than enough.

“Chewed yer ear long ‘nough. Doin’ his damn job my left foot,” came the grumpy snort from his best friend.

“Be nice.” Mike warned, the same fond, amused tone he had used only earlier this evening. He sighed, tired but relieved. A glance at the clock confirmed his suspicions.

“Looks like we made it, gang. Six am has come and gone…now, if you don’t mind…I’m going to get some sleep.”

Mike started for the Office, his lips curling into a smile when he heard the tell-tale noises of Freddy following behind.

“Silly old bear.” He called back playfully over his shoulder, earning a snort of amusement from the massive machine.

* * *

“Honey, did you see on the news? Your work—the place you work got robbed!” Bea’s mother gasped through the receiver. Bea, sitting cross legged on her bed amidst a pile of notes and homework for her classes, finally paused her rifling.

“Work got—Freddy’s?” The college student squeaked, hand over her mouth as she grabbed for her laptop. She typed in quickly, smacking enter and went for the first article that came up.

“ _Ohmigosh_ ,” Bea breathed, “I hope Mr. Schmidt’s okay! It says no one got hurt, but—“ She bit her lip, glancing at the photo someone had taken off the double doors, wide open in the early morning light.

“But what?” Her mother asked, “Oh he’s fine honey, at least I think that’s what they said. Though they _were_ armed. I guess it’s all anyone’s talking about, of course I did say to your father…”

But Bea stopped listening. She let her mother talk on, even as she closed the article and switched tabs on her screen back to her Physics notes.

It was hard to concentrate though.

Four armed men, versus one scrawny Mike Schmidt? She adored her boss, she truly did, but he wasn’t exactly being scouted for the state’s pro-wrestling league. And he was _so_ friendly and chipper—she couldn’t imagine him being able to intimidate some brutes with weapons!

The article had been short and sweet. It didn’t mention cops taking down the men, either. Nothing of much help there, perhaps the guys at work would know more when she went in tomorrow. And yet…something nagged at the back of the girl’s brain.

 It was the picture they had taken, the angle that you could just see the three animatronics in the background. For some reason, while the other two were looking forward, only Freddy Fazbear’s head was looking at the camera. Bea sat there, thinking about the look Freddy shot over his shoulder at her last night. The way he always seemed to follow Mike around, the way his optics stared down people who got snippy and rude with Mike.

The place she worked at had been robbed. Mike could have been hurt, or worse. He wasn’t, which was good. And nothing of value had been taken or wrecked, which was also good. Nothing but a broke lock, some scuffed up floors and some extra paperwork were all that remained of the little break-in.

So why did she have the distinct feeling that the _robbers_ were the lucky ones?

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Detective Nick Wilde made his debut in Ghost Strings, where he investigates the events of London Bridge. He is absolutely a fond mention to the Zootopia character, but the similarities end there. When I was writing Ghost Strings, I set Nick up as a brief red herring—it was implied he might be the Son Who Killed Arthur, as he said Foxy was his favorite, and he had a mask of him as a kid. It was just a coincidence—but the fact the Nick Wilde character loved the only fox in the gang? Well, that was a happy accident. See you next time!


	4. Autobiography of a Foxy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foxy starts acting odd. While Mike rules out anything mechanical, that doesn’t stop the fox from being irritable and lashing out on the anniversary of a certain day. Can a heart break even if its never beat before, Foxy? Takes place between Devil’s Spine and London Bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: The quotation from Autobiography of a Yogi on Night 5 is from a chapter in which Yogananda posits that metal has a life force. The title is a play on this, as well as implying the subject of this episode. Foxy was originally planned in London Bridge to be the foil to Mike, but Freddy soon took over that job by the time Ghost Strings came around. While that doesn’t mean Mike and Foxy aren’t bros, (quote often you see Foxy putting up with more of Mike’s shenanigans and stupider ideas than Freddy is willing to, and theres a reason for that) it did mean that I focused more on Mike/Freddy’s broship more. For those that want a Foxy centric with some Mike/Foxy bonding, this chapter is for you!

_“The monster was the best friend I ever had.” –Boris Karloff_

* * *

  **Episode 3. Autobiography of a Foxy**

_1987, March, Fredbear’s Diner 2 Months Before The Party_

“Uh…hello, hello?”

Silence.

Pursing his chapped lips, the man of about thirty or so pushed aside the heavy curtain and peeked into the modest room.

“...hello?” He tried again, sounding far more uneasy than he had earlier. Yet when nothing ultimately happened, he forced himself to relax and settle back. He eyed the new animatronic, its proud, swashbuckling stance, it’s long muzzle and the way the light glinted off it’s many teeth.

“I’ll never understand why he wanted real bronze for some of them--and the hook.” The man mused, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “You’d think it would make the head too heavy. Oh well…that’s why I’m not Henry. Or Will.”

The security guard pulled back, and from behind the curtain he had been holding up sprang a smaller form with a head far too big for its human body. His attacker had clearly been waiting around the corner, away from Pirate’s Cove but just close enough to use it as bait.

“Raahh!!” said the big-headed monster, with a very human tone.

Scott shrieked and flailed for a moment--that is until, his flight instinct quieted down and he noticed the muffled snickering coming from behind the foxy mask.

“Oh--for the love of-- _Alex_!” Scott hissed, clutching his chest. “What are you doing here already?! It’s not even four yet, you--did you play hooky again?” He asked, heavy suspicion in his voice.

“Awh, c’mon. No one calls it hooky anymore,” the teenager told him blithely as he tried tugging off the Foxy head. Scott reached out to help, then drew back, hoping to teach the little snot a lesson for once. A second later he gave in and steadied the boy, taking hold of the ears and lifting up like Henry had showed him when they had to dress up the real Foxy endoskeleton.

“Did you take this from the spare room?” This time, Scott frowned as he regarded the head he was holding onto. Foxy--the one in the Cove, that is--had a head. He had just seen it when he looked in. This must have been one of his three spares, not to mention the only spare that had his second set of deadly, too sharp teeth. After the original Foxy head Henry designed, this spare was the next expensive one.

“You know you’re not allowed back there, it’s--it can be dangerous.”

“ _Dangerous_? For who? The mice you set traps for?!” Finally, with a pop! Alex’s head came free, and with it the freckled, smirking face of a shaggy-headed boy. He had his father’s hair and eyes, but his mother’s complexion. That, and the sly, coyness of a certain fox they all were getting to know. Henry had finished Foxy’s design and suit in record time--but then, they needed to be done in record time. Business _was_ booming.

“For kids who don’t go to school when they should.” Scott deadpanned, raising a brow. Alex ducked his head, trying to give the man his best boyish smile to fend off the scolding.

Glancing between the animatronic and teen, Scott wondered if Will’s business partner hadn’t modeled at least _some_ of Foxy after the teenager that stood before them. The grin certainly was the same, not to mention the freckles.

“They let me go early.” Alex tried, but it wasn’t a very good lie.

“What--out the window?”

Alex laughed at this, realizing he was off the hook--as it were. He wandered after the security guard as Scott tucked the Foxy head under his arm, trying to be nonchalant.

“So when is Henry gunna finish everything else? I mean--I still think Foxy needs a tail or something, or maybe an eye patch. He doesn’t look very pirate-ish to me.”

“Well, he sounds like one, but I think I heard your dad say something about the props needing to be finished before the end of the month and...and don’t you have homework to do?”

“No.” Alex said blankly, “Uh, I mean, kind of. Maybe. I--yes?”

“Let’s go, kiddo. You do homework, or you’ll be helping me mop Fredbear’s stage. Your pick.”

Alex scrunched his nose, those little cluster of freckles gathering as he did so.

* * *

_Current Day_

Foxy the pirate felt his inner alarm go off.

With a roll of his long body and a grinding of machinery, Foxy stirred. He shifted laboriously off his side and got his limbs under him before trying to stand. His jaw had come loose in the night, which mean it swung lazily under his muzzle as he moved. Foxy’s systems alerted him to find his technician immediately or risk suffering additional damage—

Foxy killed the directive. He knew who he was supposed to go find, but if he had to see _that man’s_ name flash in his eyes any longer, he really would go mad as the fools who muttered about him said.

And anyway, that directive for his malfunctions was programmed sometime in 1987. No one had ever bothered to change them, that was all.

Now, Foxy slept unlike his friends, who stood upright on their stage. Foxy had never felt safe going into sleep mode on his legs, because if he fell, he could do a lot of damage to the floor, or anything he fell on. His legs weren’t necessarily unstable—they couldn’t afford to be, with the way he tore around on them when he had to—but he also wasn’t sturdy like Fazbear, nor did he have Bonnie’s balance.

Foxy shuffled up into his standing position, and ambled toward his closed curtain. It was Sunday, and one of the few days of the week their night guard shut the place down. Twice a month was their schedule, Sundays and Mondays mostly. Business was slower than ‘molasses on a cold day,’ as their fearless Captain Fazbear would have put it. While Foxy agreed with their night guard’s ideas, he did miss entertaining children on these empty and long days.

Foxy swung his good optic about his stage, looking for anything amiss. He checked the lights, and noted one of the bulbs had blown again. Same socket as before, which likely meant he would have to get Mike to take a look at it before the day was up. A dark Pirate’s Cove was no pride of Foxy’s, that was for sure.

“Hnnh…wonder what it be like outside the ship.” Foxy muttered to himself as he slunk over toward his drawn, dusty violet curtains. He leaned forward, caught one edge with his deadly hook and drew it back to spot the tiny window down the hall.

Raining. _Raining_? Today of all days…

Foxy jerked back as the memory tried to boot itself up. He snarled angrily, shutting down his recall system and waited stubbornly.

“Blast me system ta Davy Jones’ locker!” Foxy roared out loud before he could stop himself. He swung his hook viciously around him, making the curtain flutter closed. Foxy didn’t turn on his optic’s high beams, instead standing there in the quiet, still darkness. He stayed silent too, hoping no one came looking for him after his little outburst. Especially that rabbit, whose ears would have him tattling to Mike on the off chance the night guard hadn’t heard him already.

And yet now that he knew what it was like outside the walls of the restaurant, Foxy could hear the pittering up on the roof. It was only a stilited, cool drizzle. Good lazy day weather, Mike would have told him, with that dumb smile that relaxed the robots. Foxy closed his optics, even the one hidden behind his lowered eye patch.

Today…

 _That Event_ had happened on a Sunday, hadn’t it?

“No good, no good.” Foxy muttered to himself, feeling his ire rise slowly but surely. He gave himself a shake, mumbling and grumbling as he moved deeper into his little safe haven.

He hadn’t noticed his visitors until they came tromping up onto the steps of his stage, in their clunky work boots. Foxy grunted, turning to watch his curtain get pulled aside without so much as an ‘Ahoy, matey.’  

As you can imagine, that did nothing for Foxy’s already souring mood. Rude.

He knew these landlubbers, their night guard had just hired them. They had solid credentials, and most of all, they weren’t afraid of the history that loomed over the Restaurant even on the sunniest of days. While Mike said this meant they were worth their salt, Foxy had silently considered how it could mean that they simply weren’t all that bright.

“Yarr, and what be yer reason fer visitin’ me Cove, swabbies?” He grumbled out, cocking his head suspiciously at the two technicians, who froze like mice under his steely gaze. Tch! Mike never backed down when Foxy gave him that look. ‘Worth their salt’, his arse.

“Uhm.” said the one on the right, making Foxy snort.

“We’re here, well, you’re due for...due for maintenance, uh, Fox...Foxy.”

“Is tha’right?” The statement was simple, but the word were a cold, irritated challenge. It never failed, the instant you started _telling Foxy what to do_ , he became belligerent. Downright bratty. Many blamed it on his old age, or faulty wires. Others assumed it was part of his personality matrix, his pirate programming.

Not even his own robotic family knew the real reason he sometimes began acting like a petulant teenager.

Well...save for one. But then, the ‘Black Devil,’ as Foxy called it, was thankfully never one for talking much.

“Me boyo’ didn’t tell me I had maintenance today, landlubbers.” He tossed his head petulantly as he said this, making sure his big, nasty canines caught the limited lighting of his Cove.

“Well--you do. I don’t know what to tell you. Schmidt must have forgot.” said the sandy-haired one, shrugging as he hopped up on Foxy’s stage. Foxy bristled at the backhand at Mike.

“Don’t even ask ta come on board, do yas?” The Captain asked, feeling bristly.

“On board,” Scoffed the other with an eye roll. “It’s not a real ship. I swear, they need to tone down your pirate protocol. It’s getting a little ridiculous.”

“Oh, aye, ya have a mustache like that and _I_ be the ridiculous one?” Foxy snapped back, earning startled looks and absolutely zero laughter from the two techs.

Now insulted, annoyed at _being_ insulted by a robot, _and_ clearly with a chip on his shoulder the size of Fazbear’s ego, the mustachioed-technician glared and shifted his toolbox to reach for the stage lights. With a tired hiss and sizzle they spit to life, just as Foxy looked up toward the sound in confusion.

The flare of lights hit him right in his optics.

Everything was All At Once and So Much. _Too_ Much. The stage’s strobe light wobbled into Foxy’s optics, making the cameras that were his ‘eyes’ go white-blind and sending all of his sensors out of whack. His processors started to reset, and in their wake something chilling and yet hot-blooded started flooding his systems like oil spilling. It moved from his computer brain and outward, a fog spreading. He began to feel things--all _sorts_ of things, at once. As near as he could reckon, this is likely what it felt like to be Human. Foxy flinched back and stumbled, the growl rising in his throat in annoyance and now, actual anger. He forced his eye plates closed but now he really _couldn’t_ see anything! Why couldn’t they just let him be!? Why did they all have to meddle in his business and bother him and not take no for an answer!?

_Why couldn’t everyone just leave them alone!?_

His cameras faded back slowly--too slowly--but Foxy could make out movement in his peripheral camera and it was an arm he didn’t recognize. Voices--all manner of them now--loud and around him and moving around so he couldn’t focus and felt dizzy.

Another burst of movement in front the strobe light that blotted out everything and if they wouldn’t obey his growlings, then maybe they would obey his teeth. He swung his muzzle, let it drop open and started to swing it closed to snap his teeth neatly together. Something snagged between his canines, the sound of fabric tearing and then panic, an uproar.

“What in blazes is goin’ on here!?” That was Freddy, his own baritone rumbling as he came stomping in. Foxy swung his large head in the direction, lifting his eye plates for all the good it did. If his fellow Captain was here then surely--yes, there he was, all lean form and awkward angles, but with those big expressive blue eyes and always had a plan mind--

“Foxy? _Foxy_! What are you doing, holy _crap--_ ”

Despite Mike’s frantic yelps, Foxy felt himself start to unwind. His cameras stopped trying to focus on the dazzling light show and he could finally think about what he had just done. He focused on the sound of Mike’s sneakers coming to him across the stage and soon enough felt something on his jaw and nose.

“Foxy--Captain open your mouth,” Mike’s words were far more soothing than anyone else’s, and Foxy immediately tightened his jaw. “Foxy…” Mike warned, and that was all it took for the metal fox to begin obeying, albeit reluctantly.

“Good, _thank you_. Now, just take it easy for a sec.” Casual enough, but Mike always did have a way of asking you to do something and making it sound like it both was and wasn’t a suggestion. Foxy complied, settling with a noisy creak of joints, but made sure Mike saw the glare he fixed on the two technicians.

“Okay.” Mike turned in place, hands on his hips, standing between Foxy and the staff. Freddy stood behind the men at the very lip of Foxy’s stage, creating a physical wall with his body. Mike made a mental note to remind Freddy that not everyone was going to scatter on them these days--and that standing behind people and staring tended to freak them the hell out.

“Who wants to go first?” Honestly, he was only supposed to work for children, not with them. And then this happens!

“It _bit_ me!”

“ _He_ did bite your _shirt_ , yes, and now I’m thinking it was because you were ticking him off.” Mike said, sarcasm coloring his words. “I’ve told you all time and time again, I printed it on the corkboard in Parts and Services, I’ve sent out memos. You Can’t. Work. On. Foxy. OR his stage, With Bright Lights.”

“Then how the hell are we _supposed_ to do it, Schmidt?” The one Foxy didn’t bite demanded, throwing his toolbox down in frustration.

Which of course, was another set of mistakes entirely.

“Swear jar.” Mike pointed his finger at the looming bear behind them, and with a grunt the man dug a crumpled dollar from his pocket and handed it to the bear who had his own mitt out and open.

“Alright, look. You two didn’t get hurt, right? _Right_?” He demanded the clarification, so they could say it out loud and hear for themselves.

“R-right.”

“Right.”

Fine, they sounded sullen but at least they listened to him.

“Okay. I’m sorry you got scared. I’m sorry Foxy reacted like he did. I’m gunna deal with it. A torn shirt is one thing, broken bones another. That, I get. What I don’t get is why we ignored my rules. I didn’t write them for _my_ health, I wrote them for _yours_.

Finish your workload, and when you’re done, do yourselves a favor and go home. Early if you have to.” Mike said.

“If it’d stayed in shut down mode this wouldn’t have happened,” one muttered to the other, causing Mike’s hand to cover his face.

“Damn.” He breathed, as Foxy jerked to life and started doing that awful mechanical growl that Mike sometimes heard in his nightmares.

The two full grown men flinched back and started to move, but two big brown paws caught their collars and held them like they were paper plates, fingers tight and stiff. Foxy started to lunge, Freddy stayed still, his features impassive and unimpressed at the two technicians.

But Mike turned swiftly, with a scowl on his normally friendly features. Later, Foxy would regret being the one to make their night guard look so upset, but right now all Foxy cared about was taking a hunk of technician with him to his grave, if push came to shove.

Mike’s hand flew behind his head as Foxy passed, to the little button on his neck, and without little fanfare he pressed it in.

Foxy froze, the light in his optics faded, then died.

“...s-see?” said the sandy-haired tech. Jim something or other. Mike shot him a little look, then motioned Freddy over. “D-dangerous.”

“Not--he’s not _dangerous_.” Mike corrected, trying not to let exasperation color his words so bad. With a subtle nod at the bear, Faz released the two and made a show of wiping his paws on his sides, as if the two humans left residue on his fur suit. Mike snorted, because, really, Freddy was something else.

“He was spooked--haven't _you_ ever done things you regretted when you were scared and angry?”

No one answered. It was hard to tell if it was because Mike’s words hit home, or if it was because they realized Fazbear was moving toward Mike’s side and was still glaring at them like he always did to anyone over the age of seventeen. Or who wasn’t their boss.

“Help me get him to Parts and Services, big guy.” Mike muttered to the bear. “We’ll go from there, if I can’t find anything wrong I guess...we’ll put him back here.”

* * *

_1987, April, Fredbear’s Diner,  1 Month Before The Party_

“Alright, where is he?”

Scott looked up at one of his bosses. The man looked irritated, jaw set, bags under his eyes, hands behind his back. Not much different from how he usually looked, if he was going to be honest. Scott tried not to take the stare of contempt personally, sometimes Will just looked like that. Especially since Charlotte had taken ill. Poor thing...she had never gotten to hear Springbonnie’s new voice, either.

“I, erh, he...?” Scott floundered.

“My _son_.” Will snapped, spitting the word with far too much contempt, even if it was aimed at a teenager Then he was motioning Scott to hurry up. There was a pregnant awkward pause from Scott’s end before he reminded the man,

“Which... _one_? I just saw Artie, he was, uh. Reading. Or, I think Mikey took the truck to town, something about studying?” Partial truths. Artie was cowering under the tables, hugging a book to his chest. Fredbear had done this odd thing where his arm swung up mid performance, sending Artie scurrying. Michael, Afton’s oldest at seventeen, had slunk off like an unfixed tomcat, giving Scott an embarrassed grin as he said his date was known round the malt shop for letting guys get to second base before the credits.

Scott wasn’t lying, _technically_.

“Not them,” Will said impatiently, “Alexander. Where is he? What’s that boy done _now_?”

“Oh. That.” Damn, Scott was hoping Henry would be the first one in. Henry would help him clean up the mess, and hopefully Henry’s partner would never be any the wiser.

“I asked him to do his homework. We had a...well, an accident. Just a little...spill.”

Afton gazed around, the dripping fruit punch from the table. The crooked table, the disarray of chairs. The floor was covered, in table cloths, napkins, and a lake of soda that was being pushed around by Scott’s mop. Scott waited to see if Will called his bluff.

“Little? You’re the _manager_ ,” Afton spit, sounding tired. “Why are _you_ cleaning this up?”

‘Hire more workers, and I wouldn’t have to.’ But Scott just flushed, shrugging as he went back to mopping. He could never find the courage to say something so blaise. Especially to Afton.

“Whatever. Do what you want. Everyone else does around this place.”

Afton stormed off, and Scott groaned when he was sure he was out of earshot.

“...he gone?” Alex poked his head from behind Foxy’s curtain where he was hiding.

“He is, but don’t look at me, kiddo.” Scott warned as he busied himself. “I stuck my neck out for you so much I’m lucky I don’t like a giraffe. I should call him back here and tell him what happened to Foxy.”

“You _promised_ you wouldn’t,” Alex whined as he scrambled down from the little stage. “It was an accident, honest!”

“An accident that nearly broke his jaw off, or did you forget that already?” Scott shot back, finally letting some of his ire show. He was so tired of keeping the peace!

“Henry can fix it, he can fix anything.” Alex countered, defiant as usual. Scott exhaled loudly, trying to calm down. Yelling wouldn’t solve anything.

 “Alex, that isn’t the _point_. Foxy’s barely on stage, and already they have to do major maintenance on him.” Scott sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. He felt a headache coming on.

“Please. Try to stay out of trouble a little bit better.”

“I am trying, but everything’s so boring here. I even finished my homework.” Alex held out the crumpled paper, showing Scott the correct arithmetic he had worked on.

Well, that was a surprise. And a good one, to be honest. Maybe he was getting through to Afton’s worst teenager, little by little. So, he tried for more, handing the mop over to Alex and pointing him where to start mopping.

“Your little brother’s birthday party is next month.” Scott found himself lecturing as he watched the teen’s progress.

“ _Try_ to stay out of trouble until then, please Alex?” Scott all but begged the teen. Alex grunted, looking chided.

“I’ll try.” Alex waited a full minute before adding, “But he’s such a whiny baby.”

* * *

_Current Day_

The next time Foxy booted up, he immediately checked his internal clock. Several hours had passed, and yet he had powered on by his own. None was in his Cove with him. Likely this was Mike’s doing, as he of all of them knew how much Foxy needed his solitude. Despite his better judgement, Foxy hauled his body up and wandered toward the edge of his stage. When he drew the curtain back and went to step down, he noticed the little plaque before the curtain.

It was his ‘Sorry! Out of Order’ sign. Someone--likely Mike--had taken it from the storage closet and placed it out here.

Well, that was how it was going to be, was it?

With a cold snarl, Foxy turned and eyed his surroundings, wondering what of his possessions he could break to let off some steam. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew it wouldn't solve anything, but he also knew it might just make him feel a bit better.

At least until Mike saw the destruction, and gave him that disappointed but sympathetic face he often gave.

As Foxy sulked about his Cove, Mike sulked as well, but in his office .

Irritated, he ran a hand through his mop of hair and sat back in the rolly chair, reading over his notes from Foxy’s little impromptu check-up. Nothing. Well, the usual problems. Strained servos, hydraulics needed to be recalibrated--Foxy wasn’t made to run but he did--and of course, his loose jaw.

The usual list of suspects. Nothing that pointed to the reason for Foxy’s bad temper.

“They _know_ they can’t do maintenance on him,” he mumbled to himself, all together forgetting the other creature in the room that was always listening. “And they go and egg him on anyway... I’ve never seen him react this bad to something in a while.”

It was _almost_ like when King was around. When the manager of Freddy’s was manipulating Freddy, Bonnie and Chica and making them go after night guards for his own sick, twisted games. Foxy was always on edge back in those days, always snapping at Mike either verbally or physically, trying to make him flinch. To get a rise out of him. Foxy was, for lack of a better term, a troublemaker sometimes. Foxy had escaped King’s little reprogramming antics.

 _“Despite Foxy being arguably the most deadly and fastest of the four._ ” spoke a soft voice from behind him. There was a soft rustling, and the chill settled over Mike’s bones like it always did.

 _‘Don’t you find that **interesting** , dear night guard?’ _The Marionette asked coyly.

Mike turned, studying his friend closely, pen still twisting around in his mouth as he chewed on the cap. While he would never get used to Marion’s mind reading, the puppet had looked out for Mike from the start. The night guard liked to tell himself it was because Marion genuinely liked him, and not just because the puppet wanted to give a soul-battery to Gold so that the massive yellow bear could go after the Afton line once more.

“I guess I never really thought about it like that, Mari.” He answered honestly. “Foxy had been Out of Service for years at that point. I figured King had started working here after that.”

_“Or perhaps that Adult overlooked Foxy for a different reason.”_

Mike hadn’t considered this, and the look on his face said as much.

“I swear to God, Marion. You keep up this cryptic bullshit I’m gunna put a paper weight on the lid of your Box.”

This made the Puppet chime in heavy amusement, and it regarded Mike for a second before beckoning the night guard closer. With one spiderleg finger. Mike obeyed, leaning in his rolly chair.

_“Foxy **was** Out of Service. That meant no technician would come across the chip King had to instal to control him remotely. His teeth and hook are deadly tools, even with his jaw loose. His Cove meant he was always hidden, providing cover and even a place to hide the bodies.” _

“Given this a lot of thought, have you?” Mike joked warily, but let the puppet drift closer, its cut strings glinting from where they hung from its joints.

 _“I want you to give it thought too, night guard.”_ The puppet’s paper thin voiced whispered to him.

_“All those reasons why Foxy should have been part of King’s plan, and yet...he never was.”_

Mike bit his lip, and followed the Puppet’s skeletal finger. He stared at the old landline phone for a moment, before his brow scrunched in deeper thought.

“That guy on the phone?” Mike asked on instinct, earning a chime of praise from the Marionette.

_“You saved those messages, didn’t you?”_

He had, and they both knew it. There was a reason Mike made it through those nights. It wasn’t because of the phone guy, either. It wasn’t entirely because of the Puppet. it was because Mike was _good_ at surviving. Terminal illness, robotics, puzzles and patterns. Mike lived one day at a time and yet still thought six moves ahead. Of course he kept those recordings, no matter how sick they made him feel. Someday, they might be important.

Apparently, today was that day.

“I listened to them, Mari, a few months ago. But aside from the last night…” Mike fought a shudder. Hearing someone’s death over the staticy receiver? Mike hadn’t slept that night. He had never brought it up to Freddy, for they all knew how much Faz hated thinking about King and his control.

_“Maybe it is time to listen to them again. After all, one open mind--”_

“I know, I know. See more than two open eyes.” But Mike spared his friend a small grin. There was something almost comforting about Mari’s fortune cookie sayings. It toted them out often, but only ones that applied to the situation.

With that, the strange, haunted toy sunk backwards into the confines of its present box. Hearing the tinny music of _Pokemon_ start up, Mike let himself relax and smile a bit more. Shaking his head fondly at the strange creature he owed his life to, the night guard turned his full attention on the old rotary. Playback wasn’t hard to access, but Mike knew it would be hard to listen to.

However, if it meant figuring out what was making Foxy act so...strange, Mike would have to bite the bullet. Foxy was his friend, had protected him against King’s manipulations even.

This time, Mike took Marion’s advice. For all four recordings, Schmidt closed his eyes as he listened. It made the playbacks that much worse, of course. After all, like Marion hinted, when one sense is shut off, the other human senses try to compensate. By the second recording Mike was acutely aware of more sounds, more inflections, and even the phone guy’s unsteady breathing pattern.

‘He wasn’t so nonchalant after all. He was fucking terrified...he doesn’t even refer to Foxy by name.’ Mike thought to himself as the second recording ended, and went right into the fourth.

On the fourth night, when he heard that tell-tale screech that could only belong to one animatronic, Mike’s blue eyes shot wide open.

He looked quickly to the Puppet’s large box that always sat in his office, but received no response. With a sigh, Mike stood and headed out the left hall door.

“...Foxy?” Mike said as he neared the quiet, darkened Cove. The curtain was drawn tighter than before, and the sign was lying face down. Mike supposed he deserved that.

“Foxy. I’m coming in.” Mike hesitated before the curtain he held open, clutching its velvety drape in his hand. It was _pitch-fucking-black_ , and frankly, terrifying. He drew deep within himself, nudging the terrible and powerful spirit of Golden Freddy awake. On Mike’s next blink, the dark Cove was easier to see into. Everything had a slightly yellowish haze, and Mike was sure his eyes looked spooky, but the Fazgang knew about Gold.

Thew knew about so much, Mike reminded himself grimly as he entered. It was just a crap shoot whether or not these lifelike animatronics would ever _admit_ anything.

“Foxy, I know about the phone guy.” Mike spotted the figure leaning against the pirate ship prop, red arms crossed over his chest. Large muzzle turned down so Foxy was staring at the floor. But he was active, Mike knew that much. He had to be.

“I know you were there the night he died.” He gauged Foxy’s reaction, because Mike saw his tail twitch softly.

“Do ye now. How much else though, ole’Foxy wonders.” Foxy pushed off from his ship and stalked toward Mike, lifting his big head slowly, his one orange optic fever bright and boring into Mike’s.

“Do ye know he was with the first ship? Our diner? Ye know he liked orange juice, but couldn’t eat that dairy stuff? Ye know his name was Scott?

Did ye know I was his favorite?”

“Oh, Foxy--” Mike breathed in sympathy. That fox sounded as ragged and emotionally spent as he looked.

“Did ye know he promised ta protect me?”

Mike stepped back, swallowing as the second figure appeared behind Foxy. That was...new. The night guard’s first job was setting the souls of the kid trapped in the gang free. He had done that! So why--

But Foxy saw the look on Mike’s face and he inclined his muzzle gently. Mike only stared at the ghostly frame of the young kid, maybe fourteen or fifteen, staring at him with a defensive glare.

Foxy’s kid wasn’t young like Freddy’s, or Bonnie’s or Chica’s.

Foxy’s kid was a teenager.

Mike’s mind reeled, linking chains of memories together, knitting and winding. Foxy’s teenage like petulance. Bonnie and him, Bonnie who was programmed for teenagers. Foxy’s connection to Scott, a teenager in a world of little kids clinging to the one adult that he had.

“Ya saved em, lad. But there was one...well. There was one that ain’t ever gunna be saved. Ye know, lad. Ya know my kid and I tried protecting Scott. Ye know we failed.

Now, let ole Foxy tell what ye _don’t_ know.”

* * *

_1987, May, Fredbear’s Diner, 5 Days After The Party_

Running through the parking lot.

He was panting, breathing hard through his mouth like it was a soccer match of his. But it wasn’t, and this wasn’t the field. He ran across the tarmac, stumbling as he looked around at the figure following him from the car he had clumsily escaped from.

His only chance was the building, his only chance was if Scott’s car was behind the building where Dad always made him park.

Please, just let one thing go his way tonight--

Too late, Alex noticed the building was dark. Scott hated the dark, the joint would be lit up like a Christmas tree by now if he was here on shift. No one was here—only the animatronics.

Well, the animatronics and the two of them.

Alex Afton hit the sidewalk hard, turning around at a poor moment. The unforgiving concrete chewed up his palms and arms, but it was his unforgiving father he was most frightened of at this moment.

Who knew his dad could be like _this_?

The teen rolled onto his side, then his back, sitting up against the glass doors of the restaurant. His dad was nearer now, walking terribly slowly. Calmly. He had made up his mind, and that was one of the Afton’s very worst traits.

They could be so very stubborn.

“Can anybody hear me!?” Alex tried, ignoring how wet his cheeks and voice felt. “Anybody—help!”

For a moment the poor teenager considered bolting for the forest, but he had already run up the road once he managed to escape the trunk of his dad’s old car. He would likely run out of stamina once he neared the trees, and then it was several miles to the nearest sign of humanity. The diner was so far away. Alex used to like that about it. It was early—so early, the sun was only a blot of sherbet in the distance. Stars were still out. No one was up at this hour except people like his father.

And Alex didn’t want help from people like his father, he realized. His blood felt like it was turning to ice in his veins as the man strolled up to him. 

William Afton said not a damn word, just closed the distance at a brisk walk. He was quick, but his pace did give Alex enough time to make a hopeful jolt for the woods that surrounded Fredbear’s Diner. He had to risk it, even if it wasn’t the best choice.

He made it across the front of the building, actually, with a stitch in his side and only a minor limp in his gait.

Then the big, soft yellow paw closed around his collar, and another around his arm, and he was stuck.

Alex tried to move, but found he simply couldn’t. He grunted, he tried pulling harder, until his bones strained and his shoulder socket was burning under his shirt. Only then did he slump, twisting and searching frantically for his captor—because he knew it wasn’t his father.

It was SpringBonnie.

SpringBonnie must have come around the back way, then.

“Good job, Springy.” His father was cooing, sound sickeningly sweet as he unlocked the front doors. Sometimes Alex heard his baby sister get that tone, but Henrietta wasn’t here right now.

Alex realized then he would likely never get to see his little sister again.

“Leggo, Spring, _please_ ,” Alex gurgled, but the yellow SpringBonnie model wouldn’t so much as look at him.

 “Please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be _good_ , Dad—Dad I’m so sorry, _I’m sososo sorry for what I did, honest—“_

“Ohh, I don’t know if I buy that, Alexander. But you’re going to be, with any luck. I’m very tired with you, you know. Your mother always felt the same too…god rest her soul.”

At the mention of his dead mother, Alex finally started crying outright. And like that, he was dragged toward the doors, then lifted into the Diner and that was the end of his escape attempt.

Past Freddy and his friends, out of the Dining Hall. Past Fredbear and SpringBonnie’s empty, darkened stage. Past the tables and chairs, sitting like men and women in pews during a somber prayer. Past the big, closed Present Box on the counter by the register. The bow shifted after they passed, but no one noticed. When Alex saw the purple, starry curtains, his struggling began anew.

But SpringBonnie didn’t seem to notice, and if the robot did notice it didn’t care.

William Afton just walked quietly before them, his thin lips in a straight line.

Afton drew back the curtain, then walked up onto the modest, clean little stage.

The still brand new Foxy the pirate stood, posed in his shut down position. His jaw was still hanging from the last prank Alex pulled before the incident on Arthur’s birthday. At the mere sight of it, the man’s lips curled.

Arthur had been the last straw, but Afton supposed this was a long time coming. He was just so very tired. It would be a relief to not have to worry about his teenager son.

“We’ve got bad blood in us, Alexander. We’ve tried fixing it, but it always comes back. That’s how we know it’s in us. It’s a part of us.” Afton breathed as his second oldest was hauled up onto the stage. SpringBonnie cast Afton a quiet look, and for a second Afton thought he saw hesitation in those pretty green optics, the same optics he modeled after his wife when she was still alive, warm and wonderful.

Then the strange hint of a personality—which was impossible, wasn’t it?—flickered away and Afton was distracted by his son’s renewed begging and sobbing.

Afton pulled out a screw driver, fiddled with some wires, turned some latches and some nuts, and lifted Foxy’s head off. His jaw swung slowly in the spotlights, steady. Like the tolling of a bell.

“You wanted to be a _pirate_ like Foxy, Alexander? Wanted to wear his face and not give a damn about the rest of the world? About how badly it scared your baby brother?” Afton said, over the sound of Alex’s crying and screaming.

Raising it above both their heads, high as his arms would allow, Afton waited until his son was being held in the right position. SpringBonnie closed his optics and leaned his impressive ears back.

“Dad please, _PLEASE_ —!!“

 _“THEN BE HIM!!”_ Afton roared, a strange, dead glint in his eyes as he regarded one of his sons for the last time.

Down came the Foxy head.

The screaming stopped, for it was interrupted by a sickening crunch and squelching sound.

* * *

_Current Day_

“Aye, that was Alex’s last memory…”

“And your first.” Mike said softly when Foxy trailed off purposefully.

Foxy nodded, his jaw swinging. Mike finally noticed it, and he reached out, digging out the screwdriver he kept in his back pocket for this express purpose. It was all reactionary, Mike had fixed Foxy’s hanging jaw for months, whenever it was too loose and he had a second to spare. Sometimes right in front of kids, (who stared at Mike in awe) sometimes when he couldn’t sleep and was wandering the halls looking for something to keep his mind off his insomnia. He had just started doing it, tinkering on the old fox animatronic when he looked like he needed it. Mike hadn’t thought about it until now, but if Foxy was ignoring his own protocols to find other technicians, then he alone was the sole reason Foxy hadn’t just...rattled apart on them all.

But for the first time since they had met, Mike hesitated, hand and tool inched from Foxy’s face. He was no doubt thinking about the little story he had just heard, and the night guard met his friend’s glowing optics with a stricken, heartbroken expression.

“…Foxy? Do you mind if I..?” He asked when Foxy didn’t say anything.

Slowly, the pirate fox nodded, then inclined his big, wedge shaped head to the easiest angle for Mike to reach the forever-faulty connector points.

“You never really did seem keen on getting your jaw fixed properly.” Mike observed slowly as he turned the sad, little stripped screw back in place. Foxy was quiet, and when he talked he didn’t move his muzzle, but simply talked from the back of his speaker in his throat.

“No, ah’didn’t. Seemed like a bad idea. Like...like if it got fixed, then there’d go the last thing I had that Alex done in his life. Seems silly, really, the lad’s ghost was in me metal frame fer how long? But me jaw…ah’couldn’t, matey. Scott wanted ta fix it fer good too. Asked him not too, an’he respected it.”

“He probably agreed with you, Foxy. Since he knew Alex too.”

“Maybe. Never told him why, but I think he knew. Scotty was sharp as a tack...bit like you, swabbie.”

Mike smiled at Foxy’s words, “I wish I coulda met him, Foxy. Both of them, actually. What happened to Alex—it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair and…and it wasn’t your fault. Or Scott’s either, because if I’m anything like him then he must be like me, too. And I know I’d blame myself if…if anything that fucked up ever happened while I was here.”

“It almost happened a few times, mate.” Foxy reminded grimly as he leaned some of his weight slowly on Mike with a creak. Mike accepted Foxy’s sudden desire for closeness and wisely didn’t say anything.

“Right. And I didn’t take it well, did I? Afton should _never_ have put Alex or Scott or you through that. He was--he was a _sick twist_ , wife dead or not. Bad things happen, it’s a part of life. But for him to, to use you to kill one of his own sons--” Mike felt his anger rise at his ranting, but he put a lid on it when he saw Foxy still looked utterly wrecked. No robot should be able to emote so damn well, but Foxy was doing it, and he –and the other Fazes—always made it look so effortless.

And then King had come along, Mike recalled to himself. Afton’s nephew had come along, dragged that cloud back over them all. Scott had gotten too close, so he had to go too. Foxy and Alex had tried to save him.

“It doesn’t make you a monster, Foxy…no more than Afton’s poor choices over his son made Alex one.”

“Perhaps yer right, lad. Scott sure didn’t let me feel like a monster, even if he did jump a lot.”

“I still jump sometimes, even when I have no business doing so.” Mike managed a soft laugh. Sometime during the story he had sat down beside Foxy, his own back pressed against the wall. The night guard fiddled with his little clip on tie and let the silence stretch comfortably between them.

“The night he died...that Puppet came ta him.” Foxy growled the last words, causing Mike to start at the sudden rise of anger. Hurt.

“Tried putting him in Gold, he did. Thought he of all of the others, Scott loved us enough to be Gold’s new Suit.”

Mike didn’t need to ask how this one ended. He was Gold’s Suit.

No other night guard had survived that harrowing experience.

“Did he….did Scott want that?” Mike edged carefully.

“Ah’dunno. I didn’t think so. But…”

Mike nodded at Foxy’s look. The Marionette was picky. And Scott would have tried, even knowing he wouldn’t make it. Mike had heard enough about him from Foxy to be sure of it. The man liked the animatronics, but he especially seemed fond of Alex, Afton’s kid.

“No wonder you and Mari don’t get along.” The night guard muttered, more to himself than the big robot sitting beside him.

“Scott must have felt it was worth it.” Mike tried. “That he had nothing to lose.”

“No, but Alex and I had sumthin ta lose, didn’t we!?” Foxy snapped and Mike sighed.

“Yeah. Yeah you did, Foxy.”

It was only a few minutes later Mike heard the first sob. It wasn’t a real sob--it wasn’t wet, but rather overlayed with flutters of electricity. It took Mike another moment before he realized something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

 _Foxy_ was _crying_.

Well, okay, the animatronic version of crying. He wasn’t doing anything ridiculous leaking oil, and the noise wasn’t quite human enough to pass if Mike didn’t know where the sound was coming from originally. But it was crying nonetheless.

“I’m not going anywhere, buddy.” Mike soothed immediately, scooting closer and reaching out for the big old fox. Any shock over Foxy’s suddenly human emotions and capability to show empathy were washed away by his own heart. It tightened horribly when Foxy gave that electronic snarl of anguish and pain, like he was being physically tortured. In a way, maybe he was.

Had Alex shared his phantom pain with Foxy?

Had Afton unknowingly made them one and the same in more ways than one?

Mike didn’t know, _couldn’t_ know and if he was going to be honest with himself he didn’t think he wanted to know. Foxy had told him what he and Alex shared in terms of memories, not sensations.

“I got you. I’m here.” Mike continued his little whispers, even tried rubbing Foxy’s long, tattered muzzle and the spot between his ears, like he sometimes rubbed the puppet’s back when little Arthur was feeling particularly clingy and the Puppet latched onto him.

Foxy still hadn’t really responded to Mike’s voice. With a slight frown creasing his features, Mike leaned in closer and scooted until most of Foxy’s large head was on his lap and in his arms.

“Never again.” Mike promised, his voice still a hush between them. “I promise nothing like that is _ever_ gunna happen here. Not _ever_ again.”

And then, because he suddenly desperately wanted to hear the usually brash and proud pirate fox make a sound beside the depressed howls he was doing, Mike managed,

“Foxy? Okay?”

Silence, but then finally, a wet sounding grunt from the fox.

“Aye, lad…”

Relaxing back against the wall, the night guard felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders. He let Foxy cuddle close, realizing for the first time how silly the two of them probably looked. Mike was tall, but he was lean like a rabbit and Foxy was pretty bulky. Not as bulky as Faz, and the dents and slices in his suit certainly made him look slimmer than he was, but the size was still enough. That and...Foxy wasn’t a stuffed animal. It was a tad uncomfortable without being painful. Mike shifted, trying to situate himself. He rested his head against the back wall of Pirate’s Cove, and sighed tiredly. Today had been emotionally draining, that was for sure. Mike used Gold’s optics again, sweeping the area for the ghost of Alex Afton.

But he was nowhere to be found.

Mike woke up several hours later. He was rather stiff, since lying against a wall wasn’t exactly a feather bed. Mike shifted, snorting sleepily when he felt something slide down him, and he squinted in the dark to see his own jacket was tucked around him. Something else was, too, but Foxy’s large frame was still rising and lowering in a strange mockery of the human’s deep breathing during sleep. He wasn’t crushing Mike, but he was heavy, and Mike shifted his arm around the robot’s girth best he could, letting Foxy know it was okay to lie closer to him.

Mike realized dully that all of Foxy’s little… _ticks and traits_ …were likely left over gestures and reactions from the teenager who once haunted Foxy’s bones. Well, bones, metal endoskeleton. Tomato tomatoe, especially here at Freddy Fazbear’s Restaurant, where fun and fantasy come to life.

 _‘And sometimes ghosts, too._ ’ Mike thought grimly _. ‘Can’t forget those.’_

Foxy turned suddenly, pushing his massive muzzle into Mike’s lap and up against his stomach.

Mike grunted in dulled surprise, but reach out blindly anyway to rub the long snout pressing against him. He stroked it lazily, staring off into space for a while as he considered his options. The day was ending--likely it had ended already. Freddy would have closed up by now, no customers meant no kitchen, no staff to close out and give tips to. As badly as Mike wanted to erase all of Foxy’s pain, he knew that wouldn’t solve anything.

“C’mon Foxy.” Mike coaxed finally, voice soft and gentle. Foxy stirred, ears twitching at the sound of the man’s voice. He sat back, watching the animatronic fox open and illuminate his optics. When he had enough space to, Mike was standing and stretching. Then he was walking over, and holding the curtain back so the light filtered in, streaming in and illuminating lazily swooping golden dust motes. A quick check down the hall told him the rain had ended, the afternoon sun was trying to come out.

“I don’t think Alex would want you stuck in the dark like this, and I’m sure Scott sure as hell didn’t.”

Foxy lifted his head, eyeing Mike with his good optic. Finally the pirate moved his features into a small smile. He gave his long muzzle a slow, creaky snap closed as he heaved his animatronic form to his flat, metal feet.

It was hard here, at Fazbear’s, when you felt like you were moving from one tragedy to another.

The trick, Mike supposed, was to just keep moving.

“Aye, lad. Ole Foxy be thinkin’ yer right.” And with that, Foxy the pirate followed the night guard trustingly out into the light, to see what trouble the two of them could go get into now.

* * *

_1987, May, Fredbear’s Diner, 1 Day Before The Party_

Scott cheerfully finished setting up the party table.

He stepped back to admire his work, nodding in satisfaction as he checked and double checked the supplies and balloons were all in their right places.

“This is gunna be _great_!” He said to himself happily. “Little Artie’s gunna love this party for sure.”

Speaking of which….where had the Afton kids gotten to? Sadly, Scott’s answer came swiftly. And it came in the form of the sounds of a frantic, sobbing little boy. He clumsily scrambled by Scott before the man could make a word, his striped shirt a blur. Behind him and from under the other party table came a lurching Foxy--well, Foxy’s head and Alex’s body. Alex’s arms were in the classic movie monster pose, and he was ‘roaring’ in such a way even Scott would have jumped and ran like poor Arthur was doing.

Another one of the boy’s pranks.

“Alex!” Scott groaned as Alex tripped, and the leg of the table collapsed. Party favors, napkins and plates went flying, while the balloons streamed upward to the ceiling, tails wagging like tadpoles.

“Alex, stop! Stop, ugh, look at this mess! I just got it all done…” Scott moaned as Alex came to a sheepish halt, looking down at the carnage he had left in his wake.

“I didn’t mean to…” came the muffled mumble behind Foxy’s big spare head.

Scott snorted, but he could tell Alex did sound remorseful. With a sigh the security guard crossed the party floor, standing by the table that was closest to Fredbear’s and Spring’s stage. The two bots stood stoic amidst the chaos, deactivated and lifeless.

“You and I both know what your father’s going to say about this one.” Scott said seriously, hands on his hips. He soon let his posture deflate. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t a father. Alex wasn’t a bad kid either, but he _was_ a teenager. Scott didn’t have any kids of his own, but they could certainly be...challenging.

“Yeah, well…Dad’s been off his nut ever since Ma died.” Afton’s second eldest grunted, shoving the party props aside.

“He misses her, buddy. It’s hard on him, I know it’s hard on you, too.” Scott kept his voice soft, but it was clear his words weren’t making great headway.

“He was hoping you could keep an eye on your little brother. You know he doesn’t like the animatronics like you do.”

“I don’t either—I just like Foxy.” The teen scoffed, giving him a sullen look. “It was just a harmless prank…not my fault the wimp can’t take a joke.”

“Maybe…but it _is_ your fault all those chairs are now on their sides and the table’s half across the room. Can you please help me clean all this up, ‘ _Foxy_?’” Scott teased gently, finally earning a little noise of amusement from the kid wearing the Foxy head.

“I guess…” He stood, shifting in the big mascot head and reaching blindly as the muzzle tipped the Foxy head down so the kid couldn’t see.

“Atta’boy. First, let’s get you out of Foxy.” Scott smiled as he reached for the Foxy head and lifted it off, bringing Alex out of the darkness and into the light.

“Last thing we need is you getting stuck in there, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that might still be unsure, the current day parts take place on the anniversary of the day phone guy/Scott was killed. (I always headcanon that we/Mike hear the recordings that are from two to three years old during FNAF 1.) This puts it into perspective just how many night guards Freddy and the gang went after, Scott being the first. And how many night guard The Marionette abandoned when they wouldn’t fit into Golden Freddy. I’ve always wanted to feature Foxy more, and this one shot was my chance to do that. 
> 
> I plan to finish Finding Freddy, but in the meantime I’m finding it more fun working on these long, sprawling one shots. What are your thoughts? I hope you’re enjoying reading them as much as I am writing them!


	5. Mike Gets Put on Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: Putting Mike and the gang in various situations with a 'new' danger is always fun, to be honest. If you've ever been snowed in during a power outage (which I have many, many times living a few degrees north of freezing to death) then you'll already know where I'm going with this. Lots of electrical things that we rely on suddenly become…useless. It's easy to take for granted, as Mike learns, in all our technology and its helpfulness. This is the 'fifth night' of Another Five Nights, but if Scott has taught us anything, it's there's always more nights to follow. Which means there might be more episodes following this one…

**Summary:** _A winter storm puts the restaurant and everyone inside in danger. No power means no animatronics, but when Mike promised to protect the restaurant and its inhabitants from anything, he meant_ _anything_ _. Thankfully, something else promised to protect Mike, too. And it isn't Gold this time. Takes place after Ghost Strings._

* * *

" _And since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"_

* * *

**Episode 5. Mike Gets Put on Ice**

Weather in Hurricane wasn't terribly different from most other 'all-season' places.

For the most part, Mike Schmidt knew he couldn't really complain. He didn't mind summer, loved every bit about fall, and could take or leave the other two. Spring time tended to be muddy and drizzly, which was fine as long as he didn't track mud into the pizzeria. (You haven't lived until you've seen a seven foot tall robotic bear have the processor equivalent of a mild coronary over that.) Winter was the kicker, like it was in most places that got all four seasons. Winter was where things could get…messy. Dangerous, even deadly, if the right precautions weren't taken.

But this winter was already shaping up to be pretty mild, if Mike was going to be honest. There was a modest foot or so, and the roads were cleared, even the long, winding country ones that lead to the restaurant. The first frost had come a few weeks ago, sucking the life out of the woods around Freddy's. The bony trees stood stoic round the little restaurant on the hill, and two, tiny parking lots were now void of crinkly, orange and red leaves too. The frost had killed Mike's poor, defenseless pumpkins that were outside and forced him and some helpful floor staff to hurry in the rest of the fall decorations. But that was a few days ago.

Now, it was snowing quietly again, on the first quiet Friday night of the month.

"Y'know, all of a sudden that parking lot looks kind of pretty out there," Mike said to himself.

He leaned on the Dining Hall's big, long windows, tilting his head as he watched the flakes wander aimlessly. Every so often the wind coughed and sent them spiraling, but it was halfhearted. The lamp post beside the front door now had a twin, and the two cast soft white light over what little snow they could reflect off of. It was enough to see by, and the twin dots in front of their double wide doors reminded Mike so much of the Marionette's eyes that his chest ached. He turned his attention back to the front parking lot. The snow flicked this way, and that, against the already winter-dark night sky. Maybe _that_ was the worst thing about winter, in Mike's opinion at least. Winter meant shorter days, and shorter days meant longer nights. And longer nights meant…nevermind. It was depressing. The sun had set a few hours ago, but closing time wasn't for another two. He didn't blame parents not wanting their kids inside right now, and for once Mike wasn't terribly worried about making the monthly bills. They had been doing alright, after the whole fiasco with Nightmare and his gang of trouble-makers. One night of some snow wasn't going to shut their doors, and it wasn't going to keep away truly determined (or perhaps desperate) parents either.

Yes, things were starting to look a bit better on the pizzeria's horizon. Profit was up, kids were happy, murderous killing animatronics were _not_ stalking the pizzeria's halls, and even the winter seemed calm for once.

"So why can't I shake the feeling something's gunna happen?" Mike muttered, feeling the floor beneath his sneakers quiver just a bit. He didn't look up, because only two animatronics made the floor do that, and Mike's other half Golden Freddy was one of them.

Freddy stopped beside him, even giving the outside scenery a cursory glance before looking down at their night guard.

"Am I just wearing a tin foil hat, Freddy?" Mike asked, still speaking to the window. Freddy's reflection was easy to see, and he regarded it a second before focusing back out on the pretty snow fall.

"Perhaps." Freddy grunted, holding his broom. "Perhaps not."

"You know you're getting vague enough to sound like Phone Guy lately." Just to be a little shit, Mike let his breath fog up the window, then began to doodle in the circle of condensation.

Freddy snorted. And if he noticed Mike's squiggle looked suspiciously like the strange mask of an animatronic they once knew, the bearbot said nothing. Freddy was polite like that.

"Humans got instincts, don't they? Ah think all nature's got it. Living things. Know when sumthin's coming, it's in yer… _oh_ , whassi'name, son. Down there." Freddy swept his paw toward Mike's middle as the young man turned around.

"My gut?" Mike laughed, Freddy could be cute sometimes. "Yeah, I guess it is like that. A weird feeling in my gut. Maybe I'm crazy, but I just feel…something's coming. Something _not_ good."

"Might be Gold. Might be the weather. Might be nuthin'." Freddy supplied with a shrug. He didn't seem overly concerned, which was Mike's first clue. Whatever was going on, it wasn't something that was being picked up Fazbear's sensitive, protective radar. Maybe Mike shouldn't be worried then, either. After all, what danger could this small amount of snow bring? He knew how to drive in it. It wasn't getting inside the pizzeria, either. He had the roof patched up a while ago.

"Hmm, could be…but I dunno." Mike stared out into the deepening twilight, noting he could barely see his car in the dim blackness. He would have to use Gold's optics to see his car when he went home, he realized.

"Well, standing here worrying bout it won't help ya, son." Freddy pointed out, handing over the broom with a look. Mike grinned, but took it.

"Good point. Might as well finish my chores, _then_ stand around and worry." Mike glanced over his shoulder. But the snow was, if anything, falling even lighter than before. The tightness in Mike's stomach eased up a fraction.

"Orrr I could play arcade games with Bonnie after. That might not hurt." He settled on, seeing the weather being to calm down. With that, Mike headed for his office, deciding to finally tidy up the room. Maybe even make an attempt at finding his desk under all his papers and junk.

Only Fazbear hung around for a moment longer. Freddy watched the little drawing of the Puppet's mask fade on the window, and shook his head sadly. He turned, without a word, and followed Mike deeper into the pizzeria.

* * *

Mike had just gotten his ass thoroughly handed to him, and he pulled away sourly from the _Foxy's Squid Toss_ arcade game. He nudged it with his sneaker for good measure, rolling his eyes as Bonnie gloated and gushed over his 'awesome, mad skills.'

"I should put this one out by the curb." Mike quipped, shooting an insulted glare at the arcade game. Bonnie scoffed in response, acting personally affronted by this comment.

"Awh, you wouldn't toss out one of Foxy's ~ _only_ remaining games on him just because you're a sore loser, would ya Bambi?" Bonnie teased mercilessly, eyes lighting up in amusement. Like the mature, hardened night guard he was, Mike promptly stuck out his tongue. But something Bonnie said caught his attention.

"Shut it, Thumper. Wait— _remaining_? Did he have more?"

"Oh, sure." Bonnie shrugged, "We all had at least two or three after a few years. Freddy's and Foxy's broke down first, though. I can't remember what Fred's was, I think it was about giving cake to children? Something like that."

"There's _Foxy's Barnacle Blast_ , too." Mike pointed to his left, where the game sat across the hall.

"Oh yeah, I forgot! The most important thing is mine are still around. _Chica's Pizza Party_ still works." Bonnie considered the arcade area around them. "Well, they all work mostly thanks to you, computer geek."

Mike did laugh at that, not expecting the playful insult.

"This 'computer geek' could stop taking care of these things _annny_ time he wants. Not like I don't have other things to be doing." He gave Bonnie as good as he got, eliciting a stunned grunt from the bunny.

"You wouldn't! Not my games!" Bonnie said, in true teenage horror.

But as Mike opened his mouth to retort, above them and all around them, the lights began to warble. Mike noticed it first, Bonnie second. They both went silent as the power flickered, then abruptly died, casting them in darkness.

"…see? I told you I would." Mike tried to joke, but he felt nervous again. There was no light coming in from the Dining Hall windows, either, since it was now almost midnight. Mike fumbled for the flashlight he had inherited from the Crying Child, and quickly turned it on. It sizzled to life, much brighter and warmer than any normal child's toy light should be, but Mike was grateful for it.

He swung the beam around, as Bonnie's turned his own floodlight optics on. His were whiter, and they moved toward the Dining Hall as Chica's frazzled cry rang out.

"Chica?" Mike called, following the bunny. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"My cakes! The ovens turned _off_!" She wailed, pushing through the double doors that lead to the kitchen. Cakey was on his plate in her hand, playing flashlight for her.

"Well—yes, and so did…everything else." Mike managed, trying not to insult her by laughing. Chica took pride in her baking and cooking, of course she would prioritize _that_ over a power outage. Darkness? Who cared! But God save the ovens! The already completed pizzas and birthday cakes in the walk in fridge were, of course, not going to soothe her nerves. It was overflow she was programmed to make just in case that was now in danger.

"Storm took the lights out." Mike said.

"Gee, this is why we pay him the big bucks, init?" Bonnie snarked. "Sis, turn your eyes on, Mike's already a walking disaster even when he _can_ see where he's going." Bon's long ears twitched, and he turned toward a sound coming from the right hallway.

"Ye keep yer optics away from _me_ , varmit." Foxy's low warning came as he slunk into the Dining hall behind Freddy, who was leading the way with his own bright optics. Everyone but Foxy had their back beams on, but Mike didn't bother questioning the old fox. He had made his point on bright lights _very_ clear months ago. Mike had just been grateful his opinion didn't come with teeth.

"Everyone all right, gang?" Freddy's deep baritone called.

"Great." Mike muttered, but felt bad for sounding so depressed. Why was he worrying now? He could handle this. Everyone was silent, but they were turned to him expectantly. The Fazgang were incredibly, intelligent powerhouse AI's, with unique features and personalities all their own. Their unique personalities had, Mike figured out a while ago, come from their years being haunted by the children that were stuffed in their suits. The children moved on, but all they had taught the robots about Life and Emotions had not. The gang was perfectly capable of handling this alone if push came to shove. But they waited for Mike to take the lead first. It was a real ego boost, if the night guard was going to be honest. He really did love his friends.

"Here's the plan." He started, feeling his confidence grow. "Chica, give Cakey to Foxy. He needs to see as much as I do, and I don't want any broken tables to go along with this mess we're already in. Freddy, you and Bonnie help Chica get the kitchen squared away. Turn the taps on slow so our pipes don't freeze. Keep the food cold, uh which, obviously won't be a problem." Mike did another sweep of the area, politely keeping his light around Foxy.

"But, Mikey—" Chica started, and Mike turned his attention to her with a soothing smile.

"I know, Chica, your pizzas. Make sure the ovens are shut tight. I'm gunna see if I can get the generator working, but don't hold your breath for that, it's been acting weird ever since that stint with Nightmare. Foxy, you check the breakers, and make sure everything is unplugged. A power surge could turn us into Fazbear's Fright real quick, especially with how old this place is. And if this _is_ a major, city-wide black out, well…"

"What do we do if it is?" Bonnie inquired, for once not sounding like a brat.

"I guess…the only thing we can do. Lock down for the night." Mike said. "As soon as everyone's done, I want you guys back on your stages. If your batteries get low, just head there anyway. Shut down and I'll…I guess I'll go home after that?"

"Better hurry, son." Freddy remarked, nodding toward the big windows. "That pretty little snowfall's not looking so little no more."

Mike turned to see what his friend meant, then moaned. It was hard enough seeing out into the bleak night with two small lights on. Now only his flashlight would pierce the veil, but all it showed was more snow fall than before. It hadn't just doubled, it had tripled.

"Is there a radio around here?" Mike finally muttered into the awkward silence.

"Basement." Foxy grunted, "Ole Scotty put it down there for the bla—" Bonnie elbowed him, "Erh, he put it down ther'."

Mike nodded, but any grief over Marion was put on the back burner for now. He had a pizzeria to take care of, and this sudden storm was already proving to be a problem. Mike paused as the doors shuddered from a sudden push of wind. The animatronics and night guard listened uneasily to the creaking roof and howling wind for a few minutes. In the big Dining Hall, the heat was already leaving, and rapidly.

"Okay. First I'll find my jacket. _Then_ I'll go get into a fight with the generator."

"Good idea." Freddy grunted.

The gang all set off their separate ways, and Mike himself headed for Parts and Services. The flashlight led the way, and he unlocked the door and nudged his way in.

"Jacket…jacket….oh, right, here it is." He grabbed it, hauled it on and paused, his flashlight's beam hitting the floor. It caught the latch of the trap door that lead to the basement—if it could be called that—and Mike paused, weighing his options.

After a moment's hesitation he was crouching down, prying the door from the floorboards and dropped down onto the ladder. He would never understand why this was here, but he had a feeling it had helped certain murderers from the past more than it hindered. Speaking of murderers…

"Hey, Spring." Mike called into the gloom of the basement. There was no answer of course, the slumped over animatronic in the corner remained still and silent.

"I'll get you up and one running one day, I promise. Just…not today." _'Or tomorrow.'_ Hung in the air but thankfully Mike was alone down here. He avoided looking at the corpse of Springtrap while digging about for the radio. The basement was big, maybe not as big as the Dining Hall but bigger than Parts and Service for sure. And worse, it was cluttered as all hell.

"Foxy said Scott put it down here for Mari," Well, he hadn't said that _exactly_ , but it wasn't like Mike hadn't _noticed_ everyone avoiding the Puppet's name or anything to do with him since his death. Mike felt equally bad and relieved about that.

"Oh, so then it's probably near where I found his Gift Box and—yep. Point to Schmidt." Speaking out loud helped keep him distracted from the silent, dead looking animatronic down here with him. Mike grabbed the little radio and with only minimal slips, clambered back up the ladder and into the still dark workroom.

"Bye, Springtrap." Mike said before closing the trapdoor.

Mike dropped the radio off in the office, then hurried for the back door. The sooner he got the generator on, the better he would feel. He knew in his heart, and in Gold's, that Nightmare was put to rest. Presumably the other Nightmares remained, but Nightmare Foxy was their leader now, and he wouldn't give Mike trouble. The darkness of the pizzeria still felt suffocating, and the moaning wind outside the walls made it all seem worse. And Mike hadn't seen that ghost Bonnie everyone kept talking about, but he had a feeling the shadow version of Bon wasn't hanging around anymore for some reason. But Mike still sometimes noticed the bunny's twin, the Shadow Freddy one. He skulked around in the darkness, seeming to take clear glee in any time he could make Mike shiver in surprise. Gold had never reacted though, so Mike tried not to think of Shadow Freddy as a threat. Easier said than done.

Especially when the shadow bear was standing between him and the back door.

Mike hesitated, then drew his flashlight up, but stayed the beam before it could hit Shadow Freddy.

"Let me pass." Mike said.

Shadow Freddy's too-wide grin widened some more.

"I _need_ to get the generator started, and until now we have mostly kept out of each other's way." Mike let the flashlight's beam near Shadow Freddy, but surprisingly the bear didn't move, or even react. Just stood there, staring.

Mike grumbled, huffing his bangs out of his eyes. "Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you." Now the light moved over Shadow Freddy, and finally a reaction came from the creepy, foggy looking bear.

The pearly smile turned downward, and the edges of Shadow Freddy went fuzzy, like bad static. Just as Mike saw something hiding behind Shadow Freddy's blackened shape start to move, the ghost bear vanished as quickly as it had materialized.

"Wonder what he's hiding he doesn't want me to see?" Mike mumbled to himself as he made a beeline for the back door. Even though the EXIT sign above it didn't really work anymore, (mostly it said 'XIT') Mike still missed the red glow of it. The emergency battery for times exactly like this had died long ago, and no one had gotten around to replacing it. Actually, Mike had tried checking it once. The batteries had leaked and rusted the framing of the socket for the sign. He hadn't gotten around to replacing the whole thing yet, unfortunately. But now Mike wished he could have kept at least one of the animatronics with him, because if he used Gold's glowing eyes too much Mike would just tired himself out and then be useless to the restaurant. The Fazgang would have to pick up his slack and that Mike wouldn't allow.

Mike wrestled with the door, finally having to ask Gold for added strength before he could muscle his way through. A snow bank suddenly slithered away in front of it, causing it to fly open and out went Mike, tumbling into the drifts that used to be the stairs. He landed unharmed but chilly, into the snow banks with a yelp and rolled around to get his bearings. The flashlight had gone with him, thankfully, and he snagged it before it could sink among the snow drift he was lying in

"What the—" Suddenly, Shadow Freddy's previous actions made a bit of sense. Mike scrambled to his feet, slush and ice under his sneakers as he edged his way toward what he thought was fenced off area of the pizzeria. It was tucked against the pizzeria's back wall, as was the garbage bins, the outside fuse boxes and the generator. At least, that's what one could usually see, if it weren't for the several inches of snow that was falling rapidly downward.

Because the storm had gotten worse.

The wind had dropped all the snow from the parking lot around the back door, completely covering the stairs and had been in the process of covering the door too when the night guard had shoved through it. Hunched over in his jacket, wishing he couldn't feel the snow through his jeans and worn sneakers. Mike hurried for the fence and felt some relief when he noticed the fences had at least kept some of the blizzard out of the small area.

"C'mon, c'mon," He breathed, reluctantly getting down on his knees and brushing off the snow to reveal the generator. Despite his luck before, and even with some coaxing electrical shocks courtesy of Gold, the generator refused to so much as cough, let alone start up.

Normally Mike would stay out here, stubbornly working on it until it would turn on. But only fifteen minutes had passed before his shivering was getting out of control. Gold stirred again, sending a mental command that he return inside, (— _NOW, MICHEAL—)_ where at least he could take shelter from the horrible wind and dry off. His jeans would bring in the chill with him, though. Mike tried not to think about that.

Another wave of emotion from Gold's side of their shared mind.

Mike almost argued back, but then his teeth clicked together and he gave in. It wasn't really any worse getting back than it was going out, but the stairs were a bit of a problem in all honesty. The added time without the fence shielding him meant that Mike's cheeks and ears were ruddy red by the time he was tugging the back door closed.

"Lad?" Foxy called out, peeking his muzzle out of the Prize Room.

"Yeah! M'over here, I just got in." Mike coughed out, looking down at his darkened and soggy jeans. The snow was at least up to his knees already, though some of that might have been kneeling in the damn stuff. But the wind had pushed most of it, so it wasn't really that high…right?

"Can see that, lad. Unless we gotta hole in our roof, too."

"It's freezing out there, Foxy! And the generator won't start. I mean, I'm not surprised but I was hoping…ugh." Mike shook the snow from his hair and wished he had thought to bring gloves to work today. His hands were hurting, which Mike knew wasn't good, but he still wished he had some extra insulation for them besides his pockets.

"We'll be alright, boyo. Just finish battenin' down the hatches and we'll lock up fer the night on our stages. You go home and wait out this storm, aye?"

"I guess, yeah…" Mike noticed Foxy's glance and he shrunk down a little, feeling tired. "I just wish I could do more. Just. _Leaving_ you guys here in the middle of a blizzard…what if it doesn't stop?"

"What if wishes were fishes, matey?" Was Foxy's calm reply. "Go check that lil radio and see what ya hear, if it'll put yer mind at ease."

"Good idea."

Mike left Foxy to his task and did just that.

It was the day for spanners in the works, though. Turning the radio on was easy, but trying to tune into the Local Weather broadcast station was a whole other kettle of fish, as Foxy might put it.

"I should hook this up to Bonnie's ears," Mike grumbled under his breath as he fiddled with the antenna. "If he'll stand still long enough for it, anyway."

" _Bzzrrt—severe snow storm has settled over the—zzt—area, covering—Hurricane and surrounding coun—several power lines_ —" Mike winced as the static got worse for a split second, then died down again enough for him to make out,

" _Winds of anywhere from 40 to 45 miles per hour—whiteouts becoming a concern, people are advised to—bssrht—visibility is not yet severe despite sno—"_

Mike didn't hear the temperature, but he didn't really need to. 'Cold as balls' was satisfactory enough in his mind. He switched off the radio and headed for the Dining Hall.

"It just came out of nowhere so fast," Chica was saying to Bonnie as they stood by the windows. "We've have storms before but this one seems worse…"

"Only 'cuz the power went out first, that's probably why." The bunny responded, cocking his head as he studied the growing mounds of snow. "Look, you can't even see Mike's car anymore."

"Oh man, you're right." Mike stopped by the window too and squinted for himself. "It's not like it's covered, though…"

Bonnie's optics sidled along toward the night guard, but it was Chica who asked, "You're not really thinking of going out in this, Mikey?"

A quiet, almost embarrassed pause. The two animatronics look down between them then back up at one another.

"Oh my servos—sis, I think he is! Mike's finally lost his screws!"

"Oh for pete's sake, Bonnie I'm _fine_! I just, I really should go home and wait out this storm."

"Well, what did the radio say?" Bonnie demanded, and now Chica looked at him too, waiting.

"…it said visibility wasn't low. And I couldn't get the temperature but I'm not exactly a kid or an elderly person who's gunna wander off, get lost and freeze to death out there. My apartment's right near the edge of the city and, besides! City roads are probably being cleared right now!

What am I gunna do, wait here all night with you guys dead on your stage, all alone in the darkness?"

' _Just like I used to?'_ Mike thought to himself.

Chica and Bonnie shared knowing, suddenly sad glances. Their night guard had been holding out on them, but now, they understood.

"We know you miss him, sweetie," Chica started slowly, carefully. Mike wouldn't look up at her, though, instead hiding behind his bangs.

"We miss him too." Chica ignored Bon's snort, "But we don't think you should go out there in this, even if it does mean having to stay here the night."

Mike shook his head after a moment, then pointed to the stage. His features were carefully flat, which was never a good sign.

"Sorry, guys. Just, just go to your places. I'll check on Freddy, Foxy and BB, but then I'm heading home. This isn't open for debate."

"You pulling rank on us, Schmidt?" Bonnie narrowed his metal eye plates down. Mike didn't answer. That was a good a yes as any.

Chica waited until he was out of earshot to address their bunnybot.

"Do you think we should make him stay?"

"You know that never works. If Freddy had a hard time catching him during his first five nights here, we don't stand a chance." Bonnie looked sour as he said it. He stormed up to his spot behind his name plate and stood in his charging ports. The pressure locked down his wide purple paws, which allowed them all to shut down and not be in danger of falling over. Normally they would start charging but now…

"Besides," Bonnie reminded quietly as Chica moved to her spot. "He said he was gunna see Faz before he left. Fred'll lock him in Parts and Services if he has too, you know how he feels about being the bad guy when it comes to doing some good."

Chica shook her head fondly but let herself start to deactivate too. That was true.

They needed to conserve power, for the first time in almost a year.

Maybe it was because of how late it was getting, maybe it was because the animatronics weren't used to Mike's ability to puzzle through something just yet. Or, better still, maybe they just had that much faith in their leader to outwit the night guard. (And forgetting, mind you, that this very same night guard outsmarted Fazbear even at his most cunning.)

Maybe it was the storm, making them all uneasy and forgetful, but whatever it was, Bonnie and Chica had overlooked one minor detail.

After all, supposing Mike never checked in with Freddy at all?

* * *

It was a stupid idea earlier, and it was still a stupid idea now. There was something comforting in that.

"C'mon, c'mon," Mike hissed, gritting his teeth, gripping the gear shaft and pressing down onto the gas. The gremlin stuttered, coughed, and promptly spun its wheels in the snow bank. The car whined about the whole nonsense, and Mike killed the engine with great reluctance.

Mike's quiet escape from the restaurant hadn't been until recent, only half an hour ago at most. He had, true to his job, stuck around until everything was accounted for. He had to, because the only way he was getting out of there was after Freddy and even Foxy were on their stage and deactivated. It was far easier to sneak out once everyone had locked down for the remainder of the outage. Mike was never fond of their strange shut down, that their wide open eyes meant nothing in terms of being able to see him. They were dead to the world, unable to stay in sleep mode because it would still drain their batteries. After that their servos would begin locking up, and would cause even more problems than the blizzard was causing already. So, Mike had slipped out in the night, the sky a strange color of ash gray and the wind howling and the snowflakes whirling like lost balloons. Unlike balloons, they had come down, joining their siblings in a blanket of snow so high even Mike, who was mostly leg, struggled getting to the ancient car. That too, took several minutes to brush clean, and by the time he had finished the back he noticed he had to clear the front again. In all honesty, he ought to have turned back then, but Mike was stubborn. It one of the reason's he was so good at his job at Freddy's.

Half an hour, though, and this was all he had to show for it?

"Well this was stupid." Mike sat back, staring through his windshield at the ocean of white before him. His wipers blinked by every so often, for all the good it did. His lights were making things a bit worse, since white reflected light. Beyond the beams of his headlights was a now shapeless, wasteland of gray blue scene that made Mike's stomach sink. He had made it out of the driveway, even made it down the road a pinch. But that was about it. He was—Mike checked his watch—maybe a ten, eleven minute walk from the restaurant, way back up on the hill.

That was with normal walking weather, though. Mike had never walked through a roaring white-out like this one, and he was starting to think he should have bit the bullet and hunkered down in his office.

"And why didn't I?" Mike grumbled to himself, trying to dislodge his car a fourth time, the tires whining and slipping. "Because I'm afraid of a little _darkness_? Is that it? This is some mess, Mikey, you fucking moron. You last five nights at Freddy's and _beyond that_ , but now you're going to freeze your ass off in a winter storm and for what?"

He paused to try and coax his car again, but the worn gremlin hiccupped, and fell eerily silent. Mike let his head rest on the steering wheel.

"Because you can't get over not having the Puppet with you. You got problems, you dumbass."

Mike leaned his head to the right, cheek resting as he stared out the window at the blanket of snow and darkness.

"You did this to yourself."

Even Gold was silent at this admittance, and Mike stared out the window until he became aware of how cold it was starting to get.

"No use," he said, fighting a shiver and zipping his jacket up under his chin. He prepared for the oncoming, shrieking wind to whistle through his bones. But it's a bit like jumping stark naked into lake during early summer—you are never quite prepared for it, no matter how much you talk yourself into it.

Mike swore through clenched teeth and clung heavily to his door, not wanting it to get whipped from his fingers in the wind. He slammed it, locked the damn car, and squinted into the gray, strange darkness behind his car. Mike hesitated only a moment, before lifting the flashlight from his belt and flicking it on. The beam flickered a few more times than Mike would have liked, but soon enough it was holding true and illuminating the path before him.

"I follow my tracks…" He mumbled, "I'll end up back where I started." In a pitch dark, remote pizzeria far out of town, whose skeletons weren't so much in closets as they were stuffed under the floorboards.

At least it was shelter.

"Beggars can't be choosers, as Marion used to put it." Mike grumbled to himself and whatever else was listening.

Mike trudged onward and upward, trying to stay in the valleys his tires had made for him. His sneakers were soon gone, and the snow was tumbling against his shins within minutes. How much snow had fallen since it had started? However much, it was thick and heavy, too. What snow he couldn't shed off by walking sunk into the fabric of his jeans and into his sneakers, making quick work of his socks. Every step was heavier now, but he was still only freezing. Nothing felt numb. Not yet. That was a good sign. He could do this. Mike was only five minutes into his walk when he looked up and noticed the tracks he had been following were getting thinner by the second. What the snow wasn't covering up, the wind was whipping away.

Mike paused, hunched over and arms hugging himself as he considered the situation at hand.

Part of Mike wanted to press on. Another part wanted to dig out his junker of a car, and at least get it back into the pizzeria's parking lot. Yet another was telling him to turn around now, idiot, and get back to the pizzeria while he could still form coherent thoughts. (A small part wanted to lie down right here and be done with it.)

Mike turned around, though it was a struggle, and eyed the tracks in the snow trailing behind him to see if he could spot his car. Sort of. His stomach twisted a bit at the fact he had to squint to make it out. Mike turned back to the vanishing tracks. Following them was his best, maybe his only, hope of getting back to Freddy's before he became a popsicle.

"Be it every so humble." Mike muttered, and started walking back the way he'd come. Besides, he had slept over at the restaurant plenty of nights. This would be nothing.

Minus the blizzard, plummeting temperature and power outage. But then, nothing was fun unless it was a challenge, Mike supposed. The Puppet used to say that, too.

Mike felt very alone, walking up that snow covered hill.

* * *

Freddy Fazbear stood in the middle of his band mates, arms raised to the crowds of tables and chairs. It was how it always was, Bonnie on his left, Chica on his right. He stayed in shut down, the animatronic equivalent of a deep sleep. No movement, no pistons firing, no mechanical wonders. His optics were blank, his cameras off. It was just like before Mike, where only King's control would have made Freddy activate in the middle of the night like this.

This meant that, in all honesty, he would _not_ have activated when Mike pounded one trembling, frozen fist on the double doors. In any case, Mike had his keys—though his fingers likely wouldn't work to use them properly, but the door was iced over from the wind—and of course there was the flashlight, except Mike couldn't summon enough strength to open the doors, let alone use Gold's strange, ghostly magic to phase through them. Gold wasn't even responding anymore, and if that wasn't a red flag to Mike's dulled, numbing mind than nothing was.

Freddy shouldn't have heard him.

But Freddy _did_. And he was just as surprised as anyone when his eye plates lifted and a white face was in front of him. Freddy grunted in dull, half-active surprise. His hard-drives kicked on sluggishly, having learned the feature from the child's soul that had once inhibited him. (And he was an old computer anyway; his wiring wasn't built for speed.) He tried moving his head from side to side, but that porcelain mask moved fluidly with him. After a moment, Freddy took his attention off the strange anomaly to check his power levels. Below fifty percent. Not fantastic, but not necessarily dire. Provided the power came back on tomorrow he would be fine, though he had a feeling it wouldn't.

Freddy felt his body suddenly, with no protocols needed, force itself fully online. This was stranger still. His stage ports released him in programmed response to allow movement. Bonnie and Chica stayed still, dead to the world. Whatever was forcing him Online (or rather, _whoever_ ) either only had enough power for one, or knew only he would be needed for the upcoming job.

Freddy didn't turn on his optics' bright back beams, as that would be a waste of power. Just as he opened his mouth to ask what in creator's name was going on, there was an electronic burst, almost like a child's laughter, and the familiar mask—a bit cracked and scuffed up with dirt—was gone.

Freddy glanced to his right on instinct, expecting to see nothing but snow piling up against the wide doors of his restaurant. He was right, in one aspect. There was snow. A lot of it. Too much to be pretty anymore.

There was also one crumpled, sagging form of their night guard, huddled against the wind and shivering.

" _Michael_?" Freddy snapped, now fully understanding what it was he had just seen. He shouldn't have been surprised, either. The great fondness Mike had for that Puppet had been returned, apparently. Freddy didn't know whether to be relived or jealous, so he distracted himself with the current situation.

Freddy lurched past Chica, taking the sturdy steps down and moving quick as he could without sucking his batteries down. As a robot, he couldn't run out of breath, and his endoskeleton could not tire or lose oxygen, but he also could rattle himself apart if he wasn't careful. His outer suit was for protection for him as much as it was for others, in all honesty.

The Puppet was no longer visible, but Freddy sensed it was nearby, perhaps lurking in a dark corner somewhere. Regardless, it was easy for Freddy to wrench open the double door and half catch, half drag Mike's boney, shuddering body into the darkened restaurant.

"T-t-th-thanks," Mike breathed, trying to give him a smile he must have thought was reassuring. Because his lips were purple and his skin was tinted blue, and his eyes weren't really focused, Freddy felt no reassurance at all.

"S-sorry, I thought I could m-make it," but Freddy quieted him with a hush. He didn't know much about things outside his restaurant, but he could put two and two together. Mike shouldn't have left in the first place, but Freddy would scold the young man later when he was on the mend.

"Getcha warmed up, son." Was all Freddy grunted, pausing only to firmly slam the door before any more snow could tumble in. It would melt in here, even with the heat off, but a little water on the front door mat was the least of Freddy's concern right now.

Faz didn't have to carry the night guard, which was a good sign. Mike was shivering, and badly enough that Freddy could 'feel' the movements against his suit's casing. He adjusted his hold on Mike and hurried him to the office, using his optics briefly to make sure they wouldn't run into anything.

Freddy heard more than felt Mike shift back when Freddy's optics light up Mike's office, and both ignored the big white box sitting under the man's desk.

"Move along," Freddy muttered, half meaning to the cot in the back of the tiny room and half meaning something else. He kept his tone coaxing and gentle, though his pitch was deep as ever. Thankfully Mike seemed to take comfort in it, and he let himself be set down on the cot that was shoved into the tail end of the room.

"Kinda n-nee-ed a blanket-et," Mike gasped out quietly, giving Freddy an apologetic look.

"Getcha one, son. Be right back."

Mike closed his eyes when Freddy left. It was too dark in here. And having to watch Freddy's eyes bob from the room as he stalked off didn't do anything good for Mike's few remaining nerves. Even the ones that were numbed from the icy storm were starting to shiver, as if given new life by the fear that trickled down Mike's spine. He busied himself with ripping off his jacket (the attempt took longer than he thought it would, his muscles weren't listening to him very well,) instead of sitting around doing nothing.

He waited for Freddy in the dark.

When Freddy returned, Mike was almost confused when he didn't come with the sound of Toreador March humming from his speakers. Then Mike remembered—this _wasn't_ those first five nights. No, those nights had ended. Rather happily, all things considered. Mike had gotten a family out of it.

But life, as it often does, had kept moving on.

Freddy, if he noticed Mike's brief, fearful expression, didn't comment on it. But it was likely he did—Freddy saw a lot, more than most people expected him too. Mike had learned early on not to underestimate the big old bear, as a means of survival.

But they both knew Mike likely would not have survived those five nights without the Marionette.

Mike pulled the emergency blanket around himself gratefully, his jacket tossed over the rolly chair to hopefully dry.

"T-thanks, big guy." Mike muttered, not looking at Freddy's light up eyes and teeth. His high beams were off, likely to save battery. Mike couldn't even argue, it was a good idea and anyway, a little darkness never hurt anybody, right? That also meant Freddy was at best a tall, towering shape of dim-brown looming over him. If Mike looked too quickly, he would think it wasn't his Freddy model at all, but a much meaner, darker one with red pinprick eyes and too many teeth.

Pushing thoughts of Nightmare aside, Mike tried to control his shivering. But he gasped in surprise when Freddy was suddenly closer, sitting down carefully on the cot—it creaked, but did not give—and then was pulling Mike into his hold like he weighed nothing. The blanket came with him, and Freddy's mechanical frame was generating some warmth, as it usually did. Mike leaned into the bear's hold slowly, already able to notice the rise in temperature before he shook his head and tried pulling away. If he weren't near hypothermia with no outer means of warmth besides Fazbear, Mike would almost think this was comfy.

"Y-you should go back to t-the st-stage," Mike said, voice trembling almost as badly as his body was. "I'll b-be fi-ine."

"Knock that nonsense off." Freddy grunted out, adjusting his hold on the smaller human. "And do what? Stand there, watching my battery drop anyway?"

Mike was silent, and for an instant Freddy worried he had fallen to sleep. Just as he considered jostling the night guard awake, Freddy saw more than felt a hand rest against the side of his muzzle. Then pressure, and Freddy turned his head down obediently, letting Michael guide it so the human could press their foreheads together briefly. Freddy stilled, expression softening a great deal as he noticed the touched, small smile on the night guard's face.

"I know, b-big guy. I wouldn't leave you either." Mike drew back then, drawing his knees in closer to his chest.

Freddy blinked, a human gesture he had picked up from Mike a while ago. His surprise was evident but it melted back into honest, warm affection quickly. Freddy tightened his hold.

It worked, slowly but surely. Mike was shivering for a long while, even rubbing his arms up and down. Freddy had enough first aid knowledge downloaded into him to know the minor signs of hypothermia. He even knew that the man's shivering was actually a series of shocks from his spine, reaching out to his muscles and making the man's limbs appear to shake. It was an interesting effect, that such a startling reaction was in fact necessary for regulating his core temperature. And in all truth, Mike was recovering a bit faster than Freddy expected. That must be Gold, which was a relief.

Watching the night guard like a hawk, Freddy allowed the man to slip into a light doze. His face was still tense, eyebrows knitted close. Every so often Mike would press in further, his ear over Freddy's inner workings. The sound was clearly lulling him to sleep faster, and the warmth generated by Freddy was hanging around thanks to the emergency blanket they had dug from under the Prize Room counter. Freddy considered starting his music box up, but decided against it. First off, it would drain his battery to start it over. Secondly, Mike hearing Toreador March in this near-darkness would likely not end well.

"You'll be alright, son." Freddy said, and some deep-rooted instinct made him stroke the young man's bangs back as he said this.

Mike didn't stir, which wasn't out of character. The kid slept like a damn rock—sometimes the animatronics discussed if it was Gold doing it—a healing sort of sleep intended to further connect the two souls so they would be better Suits. The Puppet slept an awful lot toward the ends of its days, and sometimes Freddy worried Mike would end up as the Puppet did. If history repeated itself, it would be a messy end.

He didn't voice his worries much, though he knew Bonnie could tell when he was getting moody and protective over their night guard.

Still, you spend enough time around this reckless fool you started to exist in a permanently protective state. Fazbear had never much cared about Adults before, and he never got to build a true bond with children like he was doing with Mike. (Well, there was one child, but the poor thing had left thankfully. Freddy didn't want a bond if it meant the kid had to be a ghost in his frame.) There was simply no comparison for it, Freddy had learned, the friendship they shared. And, in the darker parts of Freddy's mind, where maybe bits of King control lingered like old cobwebs, he would admit to himself that Mike losing the Marionette had indeed brought _them_ closer. Mike was almost clingy on some days, would follow him around after closing, or need his opinion on things that weren't a priority. Not only would Freddy admit it was happening, he would admit to liking it. And he would admit to being a bit over-protective in response, giving surly looks at rude Adults, or letting Mike get away with things he would never let anyone else get away with.

He never wanted the kid feeling such heartache, but…he _liked_ that he seemed to be the one Mike wanted in his time of need. Freddy enjoyed being needed, and even better he liked that Mike seemed to like it, too.

For an animatronic that had threatened _and_ killed so many night guards, to have one be so open and trusting to him was a bit of a miracle in its own right.

Freddy knew it couldn't last forever, but it was lasting for now. Wasn't that what counted? And while Freddy knew deep in his processor that Mike would be alright, this was still a close call for Freddy. Nature never sat well with the animatronics—they were machines after all! They knew very little about such things, simply because they never had to worry about them. But machines, like humans, would not stand the test of time. The question was, Freddy supposed with a dark look at the far wall, whether Time would take him or Michael first.

It was a second later Freddy realized the wall was staring back. He straightened up, for a moment mistaking the mass of shadows as his shadow-self. But it wasn't Shadow Freddy. Nor Shadow Bonnie, and of course it wasn't Nightmare (who was long dead and gone, thankfully,) but it was in fact, two tiny pinpricks.

"Ya came back, didja?" Freddy regarded the faint specter of the Marionette before him. It was floating lazily, looking down at Mike until Freddy addressed It. The cracked mask rose slowly, and now Freddy could see the Puppet's mangled appearance a bit better. One of its red cheeks was crusted with dirt, and a crack split up and across its porcelain. Half of its forehead was splintered and missing, leaving jagged shapes behind. It had only one button left, and its left arm hung at an awkward angle. It looked like it had crawled out of its grave by itself.

Despite all this and more, the Puppet hung there, low to the floor and see-through as a sheet.

' _He needed me.'_ Came the answer, quiet as a church mouse.

Freddy could have said a few things in this moment. Most of them were not happy. A few were downright rude. But, as Foxy said, it wasn't right to speak ill of the dead. Especially when they're staring up through the floorboards.

"And when he don't no more?" Freddy challenged then, calmly but with a hint of exasperation.

' _Then I shall have to go. Sad, really, but there it is. I am almost embarrassed to admit how much of an effort it took waking you up.'_ The Puppet almost sounded annoyed with itself. Freddy supposed he understood, he'd be upset too going from all powerful entity of Fazbear's Restaurants to nothing more than this hollow, ghostly form. The Puppet's strings were cut, hanging limply and no longer moving like they used to when it was still attached to the Crying Child. Mike must have been in grave danger, if the Puppet had forced itself to come back without much power at all. It was a miracle it had gotten through to Freddy, then.

"Thought that was you." Freddy drawled, then fell silent, going back to watching the Puppet. He did look weaker than before, no longer the powerful, terrible spirit viciously protecting them all and taking lives of other's for its own plans and purposes.

' _You two have gotten closer.'_ The Puppet admired quietly, now appearing to study them in return. Freddy shifted under its sharp, intelligent gaze, adjusting the blanket around Mike a little better.

"Could say that. Boy's gotta way with, with machines, guess you could say that too." Even that didn't seem to come close to describing the bond between him and Michael, but Freddy realized he didn't need to explain it. Especially not to the Marionette. It was his concern for Mike that made Freddy say what he said next.

"He misses you, Puppet. Broke the boy's heart when ya got Terminated and, and ya have to know he blames himself."

' _I know. I told you Michael was the sentimentalist of us, I'm afraid I still haven't gotten the hang of it.'_

"Might argue against tha'," Freddy shifted, glancing down when Mike mumbled in protest and curled up tighter against his broad front. The Marionette politely ignored the mild accusation of being able to Feel.

' _The night guard is very good at looking out for you all, but I'm afraid a slight oversight on my part has occurred. He's very poor at taking care of himself, it seems.'_

"Eh, boy's still young. He'll grow out of it."

' _Or do himself in before that—regardless, I am sure you know what I'm going to ask of you, Freddy.'_

"Reckon I do." Freddy nodded, head tipped down. He raised it again, blue optics boring into the Puppet's. He was the only real animatronic left that would look the Marionette in the optics. Especially when it came to Mike.

"And ya don't have to ask. The answer's gunna be yes."

' _My, my, what a hold he has on you. Is it because he reminds you of Henry? Well—a much younger one. He was already old by the time he brought you four online, but I cannot recall a human you were ever closer to aside from him. You could never much stand for adults anyway.'_ The Puppet's smile seemed to get slightly bigger, almost sly and playful. For a second, Freddy could see where Michael had rubbed off on the strange animatronic. If they had been together longer, Freddy had a feeling the Puppet would have only become more Human. The thought was unsettling.

"Yanno, Puppet, I can't quite explain it myself. He's like Henry, sure, but he ain't, too."

" _Maybe it wasn't our Creator, maybe it wasn't him at all. Maybe it was…someone else?"_ The Puppet leaned in, regarding Freddy closely. " _I remember another human you used to watch after when given the chance. So long ago though, wasn't it?"_

"Don't know what you're getting at, Puppet. Haven't the faintest." Freddy said, his tone laced with warning and ire. "Someone you're mentioning is _long_ gone and ah don't wanna hear that brat mentioned again, Marionette."

' _Perhaps I am mistaken, then. Maybe it is just that our night guard is uniquely…himself. Does that sound right?'_

"Uh-huh."

' _Sometimes, I felt sorry for him. I forced him into this situation, in all honesty. He has no hope of ever living a normal life again.'_

"No." Freddy agreed slowly, "But ah'don't think he regrets it much. Michael's a good kid, and he's friendly. But he's also honest. Don't reckon he'd have stuck through all this, if he didn't want to."

" _I suppose not."_ The Puppet agreed slowly, then gave a faint chime if exhaustion. All at once, like a balloon let go by a child, the ghostly form seemed to flicker out. Freddy looked away politely, feeling like he was intruding upon something. A moment later, and the Marionette was gone again.

Freddy was glad Mike was asleep and hadn't had to see it. The way it had vanished had alluded to any who saw it, that this would be the last time the Puppet was active at all. Mike was out of second chances from the Marionette.

It was a foreboding thought, but Freddy kept it to himself.

The Marionette no longer haunted the halls, but it's words haunted Fazbear very well.

* * *

_1985, February, The Workshop_

Henry drew back, and a proud smile grew as he watched the machine before him begin to move and rise.

"Well look at you," The man murmured proudly, reaching out only to adjust the shiny black bow.

A knock on the door of his shop brought the inventor from his thoughts. Two and a half knocks, made with a light fist.

"Hey—uh, Uncle Henry?" The boy leaned in, his big blue eyes staring warily at the figure over Henry's shoulder. He froze in the doorway when the thing appeared to be looking back.

"Michael my boy!" Henry encouraged the teenager in, beckoning him forward with a hand. "Come in, come in! Have a look here. Your father's gunna be right proud too, I reckon. Look, see, he's even got his own microphone. Should keep him and Fredbear from squabbling over only one, don't ya think?"

"They're not going to do that, Uncle Henry," Michael snorted in amusement, his shyness slowly being replaced by curiosity. He crept closer, standing close to Henry incase the animatronic malfunctioned and jerked suddenly. The other one, the red fox thing, that one twitched a lot during its creation. It had left William and his eldest son just a touch hesitant around the others that were only days from being put on the stage.

"Oh, but they _are_ alive, son. You see it? Around their optics, on the edges. They're thinking, alright. _Learning_. AI's are good at that." Henry gave the oldest Afton a sly wink, and though Michael didn't roll his eyes he was clearly not buying Henry's words.

"Whatever you say, Uncle Henry." If the teenager noticed the new animatronic had blue eyes like him, he didn't mention it. "What does he sound like?"

"Not sure yet, his speakers are installed but your father and I just can't seem to agree on a voice matrix yet."

"You should give him an accent, like yours. Uh, he's a he, right?"

"Accent? Ah'don't got no accent, son." Henry gave the kid a look, making Michael's grin widen.

"Dad calls it a southern gentleman accent." The boy tried, meaning a snort from the older man.

"Tha's cause your father's a suck up, son. But he's a good man." Henry said conversationally, always believing in being honest—even to children. Especially children.

"Well, I'll see what I can do. Think that'll make him a bit more approachable? Seemed a mite scared when ya came in son." Henry went back to studying the finer points of the bear, scrutinizing him for any reason a child might be fearful. But who didn't love teddy bears?

"I guess it would—but I mean, I'm already sixteen. The diner's little kid stuff." Michael spoke slowly, tasting his words. "And he'll be on stage with the others. Just, here, in this little room…when I first walked in, he looked kind of like he was…" The boy trailed off, as if embarrassed suddenly.

"Like he was what, son?" Henry urged.

"Like he was watching me." Michael Afton waited hopefully for the best father figure in his life to tell him he was only imagining things. That it was impossible.

"Maybe he was, Michael." Henry grinned as he hit a switch, turning off the power to the new Freddy model and his workshop. He walked with the kid toward the door out of his shop, clapping a hand on the kid's shoulder, and giving Freddy a glance over his shoulder. The bright, back lit optics were tracking their movement across the room.

"Maybe he was."

* * *

Then came the dawn.

The sun was rising—at least, it ought to have been at this hour. But the thick blanket of clouds that dropped the storm hadn't left yet. They had stayed far past their welcome, coating the earth in several feet of thick, fluffy white snow. If Jack Frost nipped noses, then Mother Nature had straight up punched someone, for the power wasn't back on yet either. A black out caused by the wind and an errant, skidding semi had taken down lines from the middle of the county. Somewhere the electric company was scrambling to get the lines cleared, fixed and back up. Several thousand were without power, and the freezing temperature and wind chill kept everyone inside for now. The only thing left to do was what humans were not very good at, and that was wait.

Mike Schmidt knew none of this, for he was still asleep in the lap of animatronic who was himself in a light sleep mode. He _was_ , anyway, until a dull sound rang throughout the building—some pipes were making a racket as the temperature moved, causing the sounds to startle the sleepy night guard into what he thought was awareness. Mike might have imagined himself leaping valiantly up and tense, ready to fight—all he managed was a startled whine and lurched tighter into Freddy's hold, as if the bear was going to protect him. Well, Freddy would protect him—from anything—but this time there really was nothing out to get the kid. Instead, Freddy looked away from the ceiling where he was trying to track the thunks and down at the night guard in his hold. Freddy snorted in amusement.

"Mornin, son."

"Freddy..?" Mike stared blearily at him, his voice rough with sleep. He likely also had a small cold forming, too. "How did you—? Is the power back on?" How _else_ had the bearbot lasted the night?

"'Fraid not. Should be soon, dawn's come and gone. They'll come ta dig us out soon'nough."

"Yeah…yeah I guess they will. I—are you _sure_ you're okay? You're not gunna shut down right here, are you? Because, I gotta tell ya, I don't think Gold and I could get you to the stage—"

"I'm alright, son. At about twenty percent. It'll hold."

"Huh. Well. If you're sure." Mike yawned and finally laid back.

"Not going anywhere on ya son." Freddy said. "Especially not now that yer awake—no one likes waking up alone."

"Except Foxy." Mike pointed out with a tired grin.

"That old pirate's always been the exception. And frankly, he's an odd one." Freddy said, earning a little laugh from his night guard. "Had us scared for a bit there, son. What were ya thinkin, going out in that mess?"

Mike's expression betrayed his thoughts. It was clear he knew this talk was coming, but he looked like he had hoped it wouldn't come quite so fast. At least not until he had some of Chica's hot chocolate in his hands. Mike ran his hand over the stout fur of the bear's thick arm, and shrugged. He avoided those bright blue optics for a while, before daring to peek at them.

"I know it was stupid, okay? I just—Freddy, it's hard to explain. It's dumb."

"Try me." The leader of the band said firmly, but gently.

"It'll just make you depressed, and I don't want that either." Mike tried again, but Freddy wouldn't budge. As much as Mike admired the bear's stubbornness, it could also be a pain in the ass, too. There was a reason King had chosen Freddy to hijack and turn violent. Freddy didn't give up until he was literally forced to at six in the morning.

"Last night…with how dark and cold it was—and with you guys locked on your stage I just…had a little too much a reminder of how things _used_ to be."

"Used to be?" For a second Freddy didn't even seem to remember Mike's first five nights here. Bless him, then, because Mike would never forget. Even if he did have Golden Freddy on his side and in his bones.

"Ah—ya mean…right. Only were alone fer a few nights by yerself, son. Ya weren't alone after, ya had the Puppet—" Freddy started to remind, then stumbled over his words when Mike glanced up at him balefully.

"Right. That was the other part of it. You guys are safe now—I _know_ that. And Mari's gone and I'll never get him back. I know _that_ , too. But sometimes, on nights like those, when it's so dark I need Gold to see, and all I've got is the flashlight…I just, I start to hurt." Mike sniffed, swiped at his nose and muttered something about blaming a cold for this. Freddy wisely didn't argue.

"Like I said—stupid. And I don't want you to think I don't feel safe around you guys. You're my best friends, my family. I love you guys." Mike muttered, trying to pull the emergency blanket up higher to cover himself. Christ, but he was cold! Because of this, he missed the utterly soft and touched look Fazbear gave him for those admissions. Maybe Freddy's fondness for the kid was because Mike was always so quick to be open and friendly about things. He was terribly clever and sneaky when the time called for it, but never with relationships of others that he cared about. Freddy trusted this night guard a great deal; more than anyone in his life save for perhaps Bonnie. That was a high honor, and Freddy was realizing maybe he didn't tell Mike enough that he felt the same. Of course Mike would try to protect them like this, and try to suffer quietly alone in the process.

"We…love ya too, Michael. Ya did more than save the restaurant ya saved us." Freddy's hold tightened and this caused Mike to look up at him as the next words came. "Ya saved _me_. Ya had plenty a'chances to walk out tha' door and never return, but last night wasn't one of them. Even in the dark, we're watching ya. I'm watching you. I'd Terminate myself before I let something happen to ya, Michael."

Mike nodded, hearing the bot's words and also what he _didn't_ hear.

"I'm sorry I scared you, big guy." He apologized softly.

"Ya did—but I get why." Freddy nodded. As worried as he was about the guy, he could meet Mike halfway. He was touched Mike wanted to avoid putting them out but this opened his optics to the fact that he needed to be more open to Mike sometimes, too. Actions were all well and good, but now Freddy wondered how affectionate and open the Marionette had been to Mike Schmidt. During those dark and terror filled nights, the Puppet had obviously done more than protect the night guard. Grieving was a part of loss, and Freddy could never replace the Puppet fully, that was true. But Faz would be lying if he said he didn't want to try a _little_ bit. To be someone Mike would come to with every problem—big or small, regardless of silliness or concern over Freddy's feelings.

Mike had given them so much, and it was about time Freddy returned the favor.

As if the restaurant was waiting for the two of them to have their heart to heart, the power suddenly flickered back on. It faded for a second, as if hesitant, then the generator kicked in and the building was illuminated and a living creature again. Mike made a delighted, if surprised noise and immediately tried getting up. He swayed a bit, his body reminding him of the cold he had now and Mike felt a paw catch his shoulder and hold him firmly in place.

"Thanks," Mike shot the bearbot a little embarrassed but relieved look, and grinned when he heard metal feet clang-clanging down the Left hallway. Freddy stood up as Foxy skidded past the door and corrected himself.

"Power's back—oh! Aye, might I be interupptin' sumthin, lads?" The fox joked cheerfully, nudging his big muzzle toward Mike who shoved him playfully.

"Nope. Freddy stuck out the storm with me in here, that's all." Mike shot Freddy a knowing, warm smile. "He's got my back."

"Aye and yer front and sides and the rest a yas, too, matey. Catch a flu, didja?" Foxy heard the night guard's stuffy nose, and shot him a slightly judging look. Still, Mike knew it came from a place of worry and love.

"Just a tiny one. I…might have gone out into the storm." Mike managed with a sheepish grin.

"Might! Well, that explains all the water on the floor I saw as I flew by the Dining Hall." Foxy said, rubbing his hook under his jaw as he recalled this.

"Heh, oops." Mike said. "Should prolly go clean that up…"

" _You_ rest, son. We'll clean it up." Freddy said sternly, leaving no room for argument. Mike felt ill enough that for once, he didn't complain. He let Freddy toss the blanket over his shoulder and followed the two back to the Dining Hall to greet Bonnie and Chica.

Mike thought about lots of things, as he sat there on the stage and watched his friends move about.

He thought about the seasons, about how they do not become one another, they just go into the next one. Fall didn't become winter. First there was fall, then there was winter. If he thought of things like that, then maybe getting over the loss of the Marionette would be easier. Right now of course, in this moment, it wasn't.

But maybe that was okay.

Because eventually, winter would become spring, and spring would become summer. At some point in time, he would wake up and start thinking of the Puppet without feeling like he had failed. The loss would become a memory of all he had gained from his friend, from the animatronic who gave many precious Gifts—among those Life—but had given Mike something far more impossible and cherished. The gift of friendship. And, in all honesty, Mike still had Freddy and the others. He wasn't abandoned or alone, by any stretch of the imagination. He would be alright.

Move along, Freddy had said. Move along indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once I realized I was setting this directly after Ghost Strings, Mike sort of took over from there and made the episode about grieving Mari/ptsd of the general horror he experienced his first few nights. I took the baton a bit farther and decided to give a hint as to why Freddy took as well as he did to the night guard, not just because Mike saved them. But because, in a way, he reminds Freddy of another boy named Michael, who he lost a long time ago. Always fun when stories demand to write themselves, lol. But all this talk of Marion has me missing him now too! I might have to make the next episode about him? We'll see~


End file.
